Made of Starlight
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. After weeks of live performances, football commentator John Bates has made it to the final of "Dance With Me", in no small part down to his professional dancing partner Anna Smith. And with controversial performances and backstage dramas spilling into the public eye, this night is set to change John's life in ways he couldn't have guessed. Cover art by brendanbyfanny.
1. Evening Shocks

**A/N:** Happy Birthday, **theglamourfades**! Hope you have a great day, and enjoy this little marriage of two of your favourite things. :)

I've been sitting on this since January, and it feels a bit weird to be publishing modern AU for a wider audience because it's just not something I do. Hopefully it's not too painful.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

_Made of Starlight_

_1\. Evening Shocks_

John wiped his sweat slicken palms against his trousers, watching as the judges gave the verdict of another flawless performance. The audience was going wild for Thomas, whose snake hips and quick feet had become the thing to see on a Saturday night. And why not? Thomas was a young man in his prime, popular with the ladies despite his own aversion to them, and he was a well-loved tennis player to boot, putting Britain back on the map for a sport it had long since lost its shine in. What was he? Nothing but a sports commentator, taking the second best job when his own career had finished in tatters. He didn't even have Thomas' good looks to compete with.

Why he even cared was a mystery beyond him. But there had been a rivalry with Thomas from the very second he had entered this competition – or, more to the point, when his best friend Robert had sent in the application behind his back, never suspecting that he would actually get considered, never mind accepted. Thomas had taken an instant dislike to him, had often loudly complained about his continued presence in the show. For John, Thomas represented all that he could have had but had lost in the freak shooting that had cost him the full use of his right leg. The bitter resentment was there, and even though Thomas bested him every week in the scores, the public vote had carried John through the rounds, all the way here.

To the final.

When the screams had died down and Thomas and his dancing partner, Mary, had left the stage, he felt a hand slip into his and squeeze tightly. Automatically he turned his head to his left side, where Anna was standing. Her petite stature was enhanced by heels, putting her at a level with his shoulders. Her skin was cool against his, her fingers impossibly soft. He tried to fight down the drumroll of his heart.

"Are you ready?" she whispered.

He tried a smile for her benefit, but it came out as nothing more than a weak quirk of his lips. "I don't suppose there's any way I can get out of it?"

She giggled, pressing against his side. "I'm afraid not."

"Then there's nothing else for it."

"We've practised a thousand times, John. We'll be fine."

"Knowing my luck I'll drop you," he muttered sardonically. "Damn knee has been playing up today."

"I have every faith in you. You've not dropped me yet, have you?"

"First time for everything."

"I do love your sense of optimism," she teased, then tilted her head as the announcer's voice boomed out throughout the venue. "This is it."

Numbly, John followed as Anna tugged on his hand, leading the way. They appeared at the top of the elaborate staircase. Anna pressed closer to his side, never letting go of his hand, and grinned round at the audience as they cheered and applauded. John was blinded by the spotlight that shone on them, throwing every harsh detail of their attire into scrutiny. He trembled as Anna began to lead the way down the stairs so that they could take their starting position on the dance floor, he at one end, she at the other. She cast him one last encouraging smile and turned away from him. This was it. He was alone.

As the lights lowered once more, John took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He couldn't let Anna down, not now. He had failed many people in his life, but he couldn't fail her too. She had worked so hard with a sub-par partner, never once complaining about her lot, and this was her reward. The final. Just another silly reality dance show to her in all probabilities, nothing against the awards that she had won in her short career, but the trophy would be a reminder to her of the time they had shared.

He knew he could never forget it. Not even one moment of it. She had made the journey special, something to strive for and work out under her gentle direction.

He had never expected to fall in love on the dance floor, but he had. A love that had to be kept buried deep within the pulsing muscle of his own heart, caged within his ribs, but a love that was real all the same. How could it not be? Anna Smith was an incredible woman. Any man in the world would be lucky to have her. But he was old, lame, out of her league.

The first beat of the music brought him back down to earth with a crash, and he looked up to see Anna making her move. Confident, suave steps that he found impossibly sexy. She flashed him one of those confident, teasing smiles. It was all he could do to mirror her moves, one foot in front of the other, matching the thump of the music as they reached each other once more. Her arm came up to rest on his shoulder, searing his skin even through the layers of his clothing. Somehow, his found her waist, hugging her closer to him. Their other hands found each other, fitting together perfectly. Their fingers laced and her palm kissed his, the rub of her skin sending electricity coursing through his entire system. He took a shuddering breath, his gaze finding hers.

Everything else fell away in that moment.

Going through the motions after that was easy. Holding her close, every inch of their bodies pressed together. Twirling her out, pulling her back in, until both of her arms were around his neck. One hand sliding cheekily down his chest, before she bounced out. His hands catching her waist, adjusting his stance for his knee, lifting her up to screams from the audience. Her body sliding against his as he lowered her back to the floor and brought her close again. Her eyes never left his as the song slowed for a minute, leaving them waltzing around the floor as if they'd been doing it all their lives. Two bodies becoming one. Their souls almost straining to be together. Losing themselves in every side step and dip. John forgot that the audience was there, was oblivious to the fact that they weren't the only two people in the world. It was these moments that he lived for now, with Anna Smith in his arms, the experience always too fleeting. She was his drug, the one thing he craved when he didn't have her.

The final notes of the song ended on a crescendo, and John panted for breath as Anna planted her hands against his chest, her eyes gleaming, her own chest heaving. They held the pose for a few moments before the cheers erupted and the lights went back up. The commentator's voice boomed over the system and Anna threw her arms around his neck, rising up on her tiptoes to bring him closer.

"You did it!" she breathed in his ear, her words almost drowned out by the noise around them. "I knew you could!"

Her belief in him was staggering. He hugged her closer, burying his head in the side of her neck, breathing in the exquisite scent of her skin. Sweat, perfume. An intoxicating combination.

She pulled away from him. Time slowed.

Her lips met his cheek.

Time stopped.

Every inch of his body sprang to attention as her mouth pressed against that one patch of skin. He felt his scalp prickling at the sensation, heat spreading. She was everywhere, invading his every sense. It took every ounce of self-restraint that he had not to turn his head and kiss her properly.

And then the moment was shattered by the echoing voice of Sybil Crawley, TV presenter and host. Flustered, John pulled away from her, and Anna sank back onto her heels. Sybil gestured for them to join her side. Anna slipped her hand back into his. Together, they moved towards the young woman. John's legs felt like jelly, like they would collapse at any given moment. He was gladder than he could say when they came to a stop. Known for being kind and affectionate, Sybil moved to throw her arms around each of their necks in turn, congratulating them on a job well done. John patted her back awkwardly. His eyes wandered to the crowd.

There she was, standing tall, clapping wildly. His mother. Beside her his best friend, Robert Crawley, whooped, looking equally chuffed. John felt tears in his eyes unbidden, and hastily blinked them away. God, what was wrong with him?

Sybil was passing them over to the judges. He forced his mind back to the present moment. Anna was squeezing his hand so tight that her nails bit into his skin, but he relished that pain.

The panel sat there as if they were really judging someone on trial. Charles Carson's hands were clasped in front of him, his fearsome brows drawn together. Violet Crawley, dancing extraordinaire in her day, pursed those imperious lips. He could never tell if that was a good sign or not. Martha Levinson, another fierce competitor in her heyday tapped her forefinger against her chin in a typically theatrical reaction. But Elsie Hughes was smiling a little. Surely that had to be a positive?

As was customary, they passed to Charles Carson first. John couldn't even bring himself to care about what they were saying. All that was rushing through his head was the overwhelming fact that he'd done it. He'd completed the first dance of the final, and he hadn't made too much of a bloody fool of himself. He stood there in a daze, not even registering any of the words which passed from the judges' lips. The cheers seemed to point towards good things, but it was just white noise in his ears. The feel of Anna's small fingers around his own eclipsed everything else.

Sybil asked them to move on at that, off the stage and back into the safety of the pod where the others were watching. Once more, Anna led the way, and he managed to keep step with her. The cheers of the other contestants invited back to watch the final were loud, and Gwen Dawson, Sybil's partner in crime, beamed at them.

"Great job, you guys!" she said cheerfully. "How did it feel to be out there?"

The microphone was thrust under his nose. John blinked stupidly. How did it feel? Bloody incredible to have a woman like Anna Smith in his arms. But he couldn't say that, and he fumbled for his words like a toddler learning how to speak.

"Great," he managed at last, and winced. What a charismatic answer. Where was his wit, his charm?

Gwen laughed, patting his shoulder. "Bit overwhelmed, are you?"

That was one word for it. He was always overwhelmed when Anna was this close to him. She was completely at ease though, smiling broadly at her friend.

"He was brilliant!" Anna shouted over the cheers. Her eyes as she looked up at him gleamed with pride, and he swallowed hard, trying to smile and failing.

"Well, let's see if the judges agree with you," said Gwen, "because the scores are in."

Silence fell at once, the suspense rising. Anna's hand trembled in his. Sybil ran through the judges, each of them displaying their marks on the LED scree in front of them. An eight from Violet. No surprise, she was known for being the harshest judge, the best dancer of her day. A nine from Martha. Another nine from Charles. And…

"A ten!" Anna squealed. "A ten!"

A ten from Elsie. The older woman grinned, though of course she couldn't see them. She had always been softer with them than she had on any of the others. He suspected it had more to do with Anna than him – Anna often spoke of the days when Elsie had helped her find her feet – but it boosted his confidence nevertheless. And it was made even better with Anna throwing herself enthusiastically into his arms, wrapping around him tightly. On instinct he wrapped her up too, burying his head into the crook of her neck.

It wasn't the best score of the night. Thomas was ahead of them there, and Jimmy was still to dance. But they had never received a ten before, and the feeling was oddly exalting. Seeing the way that Anna lit up like the sun only made it better.

"You've got to be happy with a score like that!" said Gwen, her voice breaking through the moment. John released Anna at once, and she took one step away from him to put a little distance between them.

"Er – yes," he said.

Anna elaborated, "It's amazing to finally see John getting that kind of recognition. I see him every day in training, and no one works harder than he does. He spends hours and hours rehearsing because he's never satisfied with what he's producing." Beaming, she turned to face him again. "But you know I'm so very proud of you, whatever happens."

He couldn't formulate a response past the lump in his throat. God, he couldn't embarrass himself by welling up in front of all these people. But she was so utterly wonderful.

Thankfully this time, Gwen once again piped up. "Anna and John, everyone!" she announced, and on cue the studio audience began to scream and clap. When the music started, the two of them waved at the camera and moved off. The first dance was over, but there were still two more to prepare for. Back to their dressing rooms they were to go, to change for the next performance – and to fret over it.

They walked in silence out of the back of the stage, towards their dressing rooms. Before they reached there, however, Anna stopped him with a touch to the arm. He braced himself for the inevitable lurch of longing in his heart as he looked at her, so beautiful and determined.

"I meant what I said," she said. "I am so proud of you. Winning doesn't matter. Whatever happens later, you'll be the winner in my eyes."

From anyone else, it would have sounded soppy and sentimental. From Anna, it meant the world.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm not sure I'm deserving of such comments, but I treasure them all the same."

"You are deserving, Mr. Bates," she said. Was it just him, or was she drawing closer? His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't find it again. Her small hand slipped up the sleeve of his jacket, settling in the crook of his elbow. Even through the layers of clothing, he could feel it burning. She was definitely leaning closer. His tie felt too tight around his neck. He could smell her again now, that teasing mix of sweat and perfume. What would she do if he leaned in to kiss her? Would she pull away, disgusted?

Or, worse, would she let him…?

From behind them came the slam of a door. Anna leapt away as if he'd burned her. Daisy from the hair and makeup department eyed them curiously as she peered out into the hallway. Anna cleared her throat, smoothing her hair down. Her face was bright red, John saw, but her tone was steady as she spoke.

"Yes, Daisy, what is it?" she asked briskly.

Daisy shook her head as if she was coming out of a stupor. "Um, nothing. I was just wondering where you'd got to, that's all."

"Well, here I am. I'll be with you in a moment."

Daisy nodded and withdrew. John expected Anna to turn back to him, but she didn't. Instead, without a backwards glance, she walked away, leaving him standing there alone with a heart that had just started to fracture, leaving his life's blood to bubble to the surface and ooze fatally from the wound.

* * *

When the lights went back up for the second time, John knew he had blown it. What an absolute idiot he was. He couldn't even bring himself to look Anna in the face as a gobsmacked Sybil waved them over. Anna still had her hand in his, but it felt different this time. She was upset with him, he knew it without even seeing her expression. He had failed her. He'd promised her he wouldn't, and he had.

Disappointment was etched onto each judge's face. While Sybil made some bland, vague comments about the way he had completely fucked up, he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to block it all out. He couldn't face this.

But he had to.

"John, what do you think went wrong?" asked Sybil.

What the hell had gone wrong? It had gone wrong the second they had walked off stage last time, with Anna's perfume seducing him closer, only for her to run without a backwards glance. His stupid self-doubts, his self-loathing, all of it had got in the way.

"Whatever I'd been expecting, it wasn't that," said Charles Carson, kicking off the judge's comments. "You were stiff as a board, John. The tango is a dance that requires flair and passion, and you didn't give us any of that."

"You and Anna were just completely out of sync," Elsie added. "Your chemistry with Anna has always been the most reliable out of everyone's here, but something's gone wrong. There was no passion, nothing to make the audience _feel_. I felt as if I was watching two exes who hate each other."

"That was the level of performance I might expect from someone drunk at a wedding," said Violet acidly. "A performance of that quality in the final is a joke."

He felt Anna flinch at their words. God, how could he humiliate her in this way? She was one of the most renowned British dancers, and he was subjecting her to this.

The judge's comments came to an end. Sybil made a couple of comments reflecting on what had been said. He tried to think of something to say, but it was as if he'd been struck dumb. All he could do was shake his head. Anna said something about accepting that these things sometimes happened, and the comments were fair. There was little time to reflect on it going forward, but they hoped to prove that they could bounce back for the third and final dance.

He felt sick at the thought of facing the others, seeing their shocked, disbelieving faces, listening to Gwen try to console them. He wanted to crawl away and hide.

But that was not protocol. With feet that felt like lead, he dragged himself after Anna. She wasn't holding his hand this time. Because he had failed her. He let his head hang low for a brief second before he pulled himself together to face the cameras.

As expected, there was shock and horror on every face clustered into the small room. The sadistic part of himself couldn't stop from scanning each one, and it made him retract his earlier thought. _Almost_ every face portrayed horror and shock. There was one that was practically gleeful at the mess he had made, and he wasn't even trying to hide it.

Thomas Barrow. He should have known.

Seeing that glee made him even angrier than he already was. The smug bastard. Just because he was a successful tennis player where he himself had failed in his own career, just because he had the use of both of his legs, just because he had no interest in women…

_Stop it right now, Bates_, he told himself firmly, a little sickened by the jealousy in his train of thoughts. As much as he disliked Thomas for the way he niggled and pushed at him, it was not the other man's fault that he had failed so spectacularly. He hated that dark, angry part of himself. He'd been doing better at controlling it, but it reared its head at the most unexpected of times whenever he was annoyed at himself.

"I don't know what to say," Gwen said tentatively, breaking through his inner turmoil. "Everything was going so well earlier…"

He couldn't allow Anna to take the lead on this one. He couldn't look to her to pick him up every time. She had to be as disappointed as him, had proven it in the way she could barely stand to look at him. He deserved it, and this time he would shield her.

"I don't know what happened," he sighed, his words coming out with more than just a little bitterness around the edges. "The comments were fair. I messed up and there's no excusing that."

"But why did you mess up?" Gwen asked urgently.

_Because I want Anna so much. Because I'm scared about how much I want her. Because she moved away earlier, out there in the passage._ He cleared his throat. "I don't know. I'm sorry, but I just can't answer it."

"One of life's great mysteries," Thomas chipped in breezily. "Don't worry, Bates, at least it was comedy gold. You'll be able to laugh about this in years to come."

Uncomfortable silence followed in the wake of Thomas' comments. The other former contestants averted their eyes, obviously unsure of what to say in response to that. John clenched his fist so hard that his nails dug into his palm. He wouldn't rise to it. That was what Thomas wanted.

"There's no need to be nasty, Thomas," Joseph Molesley, spoke up.

Thomas was like a snake, his forked tongue scenting the air and tasting his victim. He lunged in for the kill. "Why are you defending him, Molesley? Worried that your own comedy performances will be overshadowed by this?"

Molesley blushed a deep shade of red, his eyes dropping in shame. He hadn't been the greatest dancer in the world, but his enthusiasm and personality and slow improvement had endeared him to the public, carrying him forward in the competition. John liked him. He was a good man, willing to help anyone out. The only thing that had ruffled his feathers was the fact that Molesley had taken a blatant fancy to Anna, something that had been splashed across the front of the gossip magazines everywhere he turned. Anna hadn't seemed fazed by it at all. Before tonight, John had never considered that she might feel the same way. She had never shown any remote interest in the bumbling news reporter, but perhaps John had misconstrued the entire situation. Perhaps she _did _like him that way. Perhaps what John had thought of as flirting when they perfected their dance routines wasn't really flirting at all. Perhaps he had seen the chemistry that sizzled between them because he had wanted to. Perhaps Anna was oblivious to all of it. Perhaps she just had some incredible ability to make men fall at her feet – looking at her, knowing her, it wasn't hard to see why so many men would fancy her.

"Thomas, stop being such an arsehole," she spoke up now. Her eyes were ice blue flames, her cheeks red with indignation. "Leave him alone."

"Why should I? He was trying to defend you, and _that _performance can't be defended. You shouldn't even be here."

John tensed, ready to snap his own reply – or snap the arrogant prick's arm, he wasn't quite sure which – but with a hurried mutter, Gwen diverted the attention back to the dance floor, where the final couple, Jimmy and Rose, were waiting. Now that they were off air, she rounded on Thomas like a Rottweiler.

"What the hell was that all about?" she said. "It was uncalled for and totally unacceptable. Now go and wait for the final performance."

Thomas unfolded lean limbs easily, shooting a contemptuous, arcing look at everyone. "Fine by me. With any luck this joke will be over soon and then we can concentrate on the real talent."

Mary rose to follow him, looking uncomfortable by the sudden sour turn of events. It wasn't her fault. John had known Robert's eldest daughter all her life – it was through her that he had been introduced to Anna, before any of this dancing nonsense. She was moody and aloof and changed her mind more than she changed her dresses, but he was very fond of her. He gave her an encouraging smile to let her know that he bore no ill feeling towards her, which she returned tentatively before disappearing.

"You should go too, get your heads round it all," Gwen told them as they continued to stand there like attractions at a museum. "Take a breather and move on. You've still got the opportunity to claw something back."

"Have we?" said John bitterly. "It's all over at this point, we might as well face the facts now."

"I know it's hard," said Molesley cautiously. "But you've picked yourself up before when things have been tough. You can do it again."

John flushed internally at the implication. After the shooting – a freak incident in London on a night out with Robert, involving a gang of youths after drug money – he had been a mess. A career that was just beginning to glitter, over in the blink of an eye. He would never play football again. In the early stages after the attack, the doctors had been doubtful that he would ever walk again with his own leg, his knee cap shattered by the bullet. It had been a dark period. The rehabilitation had been long and painful. The media coverage, dogging his every step, had made it impossible to forget everything that he had lost. So instead he had turned to drink, spent most days in a hazy stupor. His relationship with his wife Vera had soured. She'd blamed him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her heart had been set on the glamourous WAG life, and the loss of that in a single moment in time had been a shock to take in. The sex had been the only thing keeping them together in the first place, and with the loss of that – either because the pain was too great or he was too drunk to perform – came the loss of everything else. She'd moved on from him now, was the WAG that she'd always wanted to be on the arm of some handsome man who was whole in every way, but life had been difficult for a long time afterwards for him.

Still, eventually he had pulled himself together when a lifeline had been thrown his way, in the shape of his best friend offering him a job at his television station as a punter. He had stayed clear of drink and women since, determined never to let himself feel like that ever again.

Until now. Until Anna had snuck between the iron bars of his heart to waltz in time to its beats.

"Come on," she said now. "We have to get dressed."

Numbly, he nodded, following her from the room. He could feel every gaze burning, flaying the flesh from his bones. The embarrassment was almost too much. But the show had to go on.

In the corridor leading to their dressing rooms, Anna slowed them to a stop. She turned to face him. He looked into those blue eyes, swimming with sympathy. She opened her mouth to speak. And he found he couldn't do it, couldn't listen to her hollow promises that things were okay, couldn't deal with disappointing her any further.

"I'd better get going," he muttered before she could say a word. "I won't be ready in time otherwise."

This time, he felt her watching him as he walked away. A soul-wrenching parallel he'd never wanted in the first place.

* * *

This was it. The final performance. The final chance to prove something to everyone. John took a deep breath as the lights went down. He had mere seconds to compose himself, to switch his mind off to everything but the routine. He knew the moves. Had practised them with Anna over and over and over until he had dreamt about them, her tucked tight in his arms, her body so close to his that they had almost been one.

He tried his best to banish the memories of what had followed, slick naked skin and sweet, aching pressure.

The first notes of the music played out. He relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes. He had nothing to lose now. He could do this. Their pipe dream would be over by the end of the evening anyway.

He focused his gaze on Anna as she came towards him, steps dainty, hips swaying. He met her halfway. His arms came around her hips and pulled her closer. Her hands braced on his shoulders. This dance was slower, sexier. He swallowed hard and concentrated on dipping her backwards, exposing her beautiful pale throat and the thrust of her breasts. A split-second, a heartbeat. Then she was back up again and he was swaying with her as they moved around the dance floor. Trapped in a bubble, that was how he felt. Walls pressing in from every side, pushing them closer. God help him, he never wanted to be anywhere else. She was bending her legs. His hands braced against her waist. Lifted. Dimly, he was aware of the cheers and claps of the audience as he lifted Anna high above her head, splayed like some flying angel, and he spun them on the spot, praying that his knee wouldn't give out on him as he felt it twinge. It would certainly mark the end to a disastrous night. But, miraculously, it held, and he slowly lowered Anna back down until her knees hugged his sides. Sensual, passionate. His palms were sweaty. Her feet touched the floor. They kept close as they rounded the floor one last time. The grand finale. One leg up around his waist. Foreheads pressed together. His sweaty hand on the back of her bare, bare thigh. A lover's parting. He trembled as they held that pose, the final notes of the music dying out. Was she trembling too? Or were his shakes so violent that they were spreading to her?

The lights went back up. Suddenly conscious of where they were, he moved his hand as if her skin had scalded him. She lowered herself back to the floor and leaned herself against him, clutching at fistfuls of his shirt. Her forehead pressed against the middle of his chest as she gathered herself, caught in the circle of his arms. It took several seconds, but she pushed herself away from him, moving to slip her hand into his. They moved together towards the judges' table, ready to hear the feedback.

_It can't be any worse than before_, he tried to encourage himself. Nothing could be more humiliating than that. He hadn't dropped her.

The comments _were _more positive. Charles commented on their flow. Violet wanted to know why they hadn't been able to pull a performance like this out earlier in the show. Elsie rejoiced that the chemistry between them had returned, describing it as sensual and sexy. His heart felt as if it was being hoisted up too, and Anna turned her head to beam up at him with the brightest smile yet. He squeezed her hand, not trusting himself not to give away his heart in his eyes.

"That sounds more like it!" said Sybil cheerfully as she welcomed them back. "What do you say to that?"

"Better than going out on a low, I suppose," he said sardonically. A few of the audience tittered. He didn't dare look into the crowd, didn't want to meet his mother's eye. Sybil read out their voting number and sent them backstage.

They were met with a standing ovation, everyone cheering and whistling for them. Everyone but Thomas, who sat with his arms crossed and the sourest expression John had ever seen on his face. John ignored him, accepting the cheers with a tight smile. Anna's smile was much more natural, laughing and accepting hi-fives from the other competitors.

"Brilliant!" Gwen shrieked. "Brilliant! I knew you could do it!"

Yes, they'd done it. They'd come together again to put in a worthy performance. But the damage was already done.

"I bet it's a real weight off your shoulders?" the red haired woman pressed. "To know that you've overcome the challenges and done even better than before? From here that looked like your strongest performance to date."

"I suppose only the judges can tell us that," said Anna. "But John did a superb job in every respect. I am so proud of him."

She hadn't been proud of him after the last disaster. At least he had restored that somewhat.

"We'll soon find out if it was your best performance," said Gwen. "The judges' scores are in."

They stood there in suspended trepidation again as the scores were announced between heartbeats. Two nines.

_Two tens_.

It did bring it to their highest total to date. Anna flung herself into his arms again, laughing freely. Dazed, he hugged her tight.

"Please," muttered Thomas in the background, "what a joke. Are the judges going soft in the head?"

Anna pulled away, her eyes sparking again. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," he shot back. "It's pathetic, thinking you're so hotshot when it's taken you all this time to get a bloody ten."

"I couldn't care less about your opinion," she said.

"Oh, please, there's no need to baby him, Anna. You should be more gutted than anyone, getting stuck with a useless cripple as a partner when you're as good as you are."

John felt his hackles rising at being talked about as if he wasn't even in the room, and such derogatory things at that, but as ever Anna was quick to jump to his defence, drawing herself up to her full height, which still barely reached his shoulders. And then she spoke, her voice ringing out in the deadly silence of the studio.

"John is twice the man you are, Thomas. And I couldn't have wished for a better partner."

"Partner, eh?" he sneered. "What kind of partner is that, then? The kind you'll lay on your back and open –"

"That's enough!" shouted Gwen, the colour high in her cheeks and clashing admirably with her red hair.

John clenched his fists and took a step forward. It wasn't enough. Thomas had implied that the ties that bound them went beyond the professional, and that wasn't acceptable in any capacity. He might have wretched feelings for her, but he would not allow a slime ball like Thomas to drag her reputation through the mud on a false accusation on live TV watched by God knew how many millions of people. His temper, still simmering dangerously and only enhanced by the highly charged emotional rollercoaster that he had been on since the evening began, flared higher.

But Anna's hot hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. Vaguely, he was aware of the musical cue that had started up, the camera diverted back to the dance floor.

"We're going to go and get changed," she said, her voice quiet but ringing with authority. "The lines close in an hour for the first vote off, and we need to get ready. We'll be back for then and not before."

"Why?" jeered Thomas. "Going for a quick shag?"

Molesley had risen to his feet. He was shaking, but the venom in his words couldn't be denied. "Shut up, Thomas. No one wants to hear your disgusting opinions."

Thomas snorted, tipping his head back to contemplate the ceiling as if the words weren't even worth acknowledging. Molesley stepped down from his seat and walked with Anna and John towards the exit, keeping close at John's back. Was Molesley hoping to restrain him if his temper got the better of him? John couldn't help a small smile at the thought. Molesley was a few inches shorter and several stone lighter than he was. John would bowl him over in an instant. Still, the gesture was somewhat gallant, and he couldn't help but warm to the hapless newsreader.

"I hope you don't think we all share Thomas' opinion," he said quietly once they had reached the door. "Because it isn't true. We think you're both wonderful."

"Thank you, Joseph," said Anna softly. She reached out and squeezed his arm. John looked away.

Molesley cleared his throat. "I'd better get back. They're giving us refreshments in the production area. Will you be joining us?"

"Probably not," said Anna. "I'll be waiting until the party tonight."

"Okay then. I'll see you before the show starts again. And good luck." Molesley dipped his head awkwardly and retreated.

"You can go along to the refreshments if you'd like," said John when he was gone. "There's no need to hold back on my behalf." He knew she was, even if she wouldn't admit to it. In the time that they had been dancing together, he had learned the way that her mind worked.

She shook her head, her jaw set in that stubborn way of hers. "No, I'll have a glass of water in my dressing room. I need some time to calm down after that, I think."

He nodded in understanding. The altercation with Thomas had left every nerve in his body quivering as if it had been run through by an electric shock. Her expression softened.

"You really were fantastic out there, you know," she said gently. "I couldn't have wished you to do better."

He shrugged. "You know I couldn't have done it without you."

"Always so modest," she said with a quirk of her lips.

"Well, I'd better go," he said. "I won't be ready otherwise."

The smile slid from her face. "Of course. I'll see you in a little while. Please don't let Thomas' comments get to you."

"I won't," he said, but hearing them replaying in his head over and over made his words a lie.

* * *

They gathered on the open dancefloor, the three finalists and their partners. The men were in their best suits. The women wore beautiful gowns. A party was scheduled directly afterwards – celebrations for the final two finalists, commiserations for the party who came so close but didn't catch the falling star. It was no contest this time. John would be there drowning his sorrows. Figuratively, at least. If only he could still drink. A whiskey would go down a treat after the dramas of the evening.

Anna looked sensational in her dress in her knee length dress. He had no doubt that she would not be a single woman by the end of the evening. The men would be falling over themselves to buy her a drink and shower her with compliments.

But for now, they waited. The tension was thick, almost robbing the air of oxygen. John felt as if he couldn't get enough of it to filter into his lungs. Christ, he hoped he didn't embarrass himself again by passing out. This waiting was almost unbearable. Even without wanting to, his gaze found his mother and Robert in the crowds. Robert stood with his arms folded across his chest, as calm and collected as usual. His mother had her hands clasped together as if in prayer, hiding her mouth from view. John hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed with the outcome tonight. She had been telling everyone for weeks that her son would lift the trophy, the delusional pride of a mother who had not had much to celebrate when it came to her son in recent years.

"And now, for the results," said Sybil.

The lights went down, all except for the three lights which threw each of the contestants into sharp focus. Blinded by the sharp contrast of light and darkness, John stared into nothing, waiting for the moment that he would need to employ his disappointed but gracious face for the benefit of the cameras.

"In no particular order," Sybil continued, "the first act through to the final two is…"

Five heartbeats.

"Jimmy and Rose!"

The crowd erupted into screams as Jimmy let out an undignified whoop and punched the air, turning to hoist Rose into his arms. She laughed along with him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Well done to Jimmy and Rose!" said Gwen cheerfully as the two stopped their celebrations enough to exit the floor, waving wildly at the gathered fans. "We'll be joining them before the end of the show to hear their reaction to this result."

"But there's still one more place up for grabs," said Sybil. The crowd went silent again, as if muted. "The second and final place in tomorrow night's final is for…"

Anna squeezed his hand, her nails digging into his skin. He nudged against her in silent acknowledgement, trying to prepare some haphazard commiserations speech in his head about the fantastic journey that he had been on over the course of the twelve weeks. The silence seemed to stretch on and on. John counted ten heartbeats this time. Or was that because his heart rate had increased twofold?

"John and Anna!"

For a moment, the stunned silence swept through the entire venue. And then the thunderous applause and cheering began, so loud that John thought his eardrums would explode from the pressure inflicted on them. Anna was screaming, bouncing in those dangerous heels of hers. Before he could gather his scattered and shot nerves, she turned herself around and launched herself into his arms, jumping and wrapping her legs around his waist again. He stumbled, caught himself, held her tight. Over her shoulder, he could see the look of fury and horror on Thomas' face at this turn of events – and the smile on his own face became much realer then.

"We did it!" Anna squealed in his ear. "Oh my God! Oh my God!"

She screamed the words over and over like she had forgotten any other vocabulary existed. All he could focus on was how amazing this felt. How overwhelming.

They had just become the centre of the biggest upset in the dance competition's history.

* * *

**A/N:** I've not had much time to write this recently, and with uni I probably won't have time until I finish. So warning in advance: updates will be slow (but nothing new there).


	2. The Catalyst

**A/N:** Apologies for the very long delay between updates. We're departing from the dance floor for a moment. Not sure if people were expecting this direction, but it was never intended to be a long fic (chapter-wise). We'll return to the final in the next chapter. I would have split this up but there was no real place to do so. Word count stands at just shy of 13,000 words, so pace yourself accordingly. A few swear words and derogatory language here, so a warning in advance.

This story has a brand new cover, made by the amazing **brendanbyfanny** on Tumblr. She has made some incredibly beautiful Anna/Bates edits, and I highly recommend taking a peek. :) And I believe that **awesomegreentie** and **annambates** were the ones who suggested it, so that was very lovely. :)

I chose Celtic as John's football club because it has strong ties to his heritage. Based in Scotland, still heavily supported today by Irish Catholics (as opposed to their arch-rivals, Rangers, which is the Protestant club). And I myself have a huge soft spot for them through my dad, who was brought up to support them because of his Irish Catholic family.

* * *

_2\. The Catalyst_

"Are you ready for this?" Anna asked as they stood outside the upmarket club which was hosting their first after-party in celebration for the two finalists.

"Not really," he said. "It's going to be manic in there, isn't it? Do you think there's any way we could slip away?"

"John," she scolded, "they're all in there wanting to celebrate what you've done. You can't deny them that chance. And your mother will be so excited to see you. If you duck out I fancy she'll give you a clip around the ears for being rude."

John rubbed the side of his head ruefully at the phantom sensation. "She was certainly good at that back in the day. All right, I'll come in for a while."

"Good boy. Besides, this could be great practice for tomorrow. If we're crowned the winners…!"

"Steady on. We've got to get through tomorrow first. And I will eat my hat if we win at the end of it all."

"Spoilsport. And here I was, already practicing my winner's smile when we sneak top spot."

She grinned up at him. He enjoyed the way her eyes sparkled. It was a worthy consolation prize for the ordeal that was to come.

As soon as they stepped through the door into the smart entrance hall, they were pounced upon by a hungry crowd of paparazzi.

"Over here!" voices screamed at them. "Over here!"

John tried to smile, knowing it was expected of him, but he knew without seeing it that it was strained. He had hated the press since the time of his accident, when he had felt like a specimen in a microcosm, displayed for everyone to see. His shame had had nowhere to hide because it had been paraded round for everyone with a morbid interest to see. What should have been a glittering career with Celtic had turned into a vengeful nightmare. Not to mention the way that the souring of his marriage had been reported with glee.

Anna was much more relaxed. Beaming, she slipped her arm around his back and tucked herself close to his side, encouraging him to turn in the direction of whichever photographer who happened to be screaming at them. The fierce flashing lights were giving him a headache already.

It seemed to take a lifetime before the security guards muscled their way through and herded them through the door like sheep. John heaved a sigh of relief even as the atmosphere grew more oppressive. At least they had escaped scrutiny – for the time being.

"John, darling!"

A stout whirlwind barrelled into his chest, almost knocking him off balance. Anna laughed as she stepped away, and he glanced down to familiar dark eyes.

"Bloody hell, Mum," he grumbled.

"Language, Johnny," she said reprovingly.

"I hope you know that I'm never going to live this down if someone sees us."

"Hush you. I bet Robert's mother gives _him_ a hug and he doesn't complain."

"Actually, I don't think Robert's mother has ever given him a hug in his life. She doesn't seem affectionate in that way."

"Ah, you've always got an answer for me. Hark at him, Anna."

"Anna's got to agree with me, she's my dancing partner."

"I don't have to agree with you at all," she giggled. "It's cute to see a mother hugging her son. Besides, Mrs. Bates bakes delicious cakes that I can't resist. I'm not going to oppose her."

John rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the small smile from grazing his lips as he gazed down at her. In such moments, it was easy to lose himself in the fantasy that she could be his.

She never would be. He shook the thought away before it became too painful.

"Well, shall we?" his mother said, breaking through the odd silence that had blanketed over them. "The party is going on without us, and everyone is waiting to greet you."

"I suppose," he sighed. "Ready, Anna?"

She slipped her small hand into his and gave it a squeeze.

"Ready," she said decisively.

* * *

As soon as they opened the door to the party room, they were almost deafened by the cheers that went up. Everyone stood in a semi-circle, clapping thunderously. Anna laughed and pulled him into the centre of the semi-circle as his mother slipped into the crowd and took up clapping herself. Anna dipped into a mock curtsey, her eyes shining as she looked around at the people who had been part of their lives for the last six months. John swept a hand through his hair, not quite sure where to look, not quite comfortable with being centre of attention.

Robert stepped forward, beaming, reaching out to clap him on the shoulders.

"Fantastic result, that," he said cheerfully. "Bloody wish I'd put some money on that now. I'd've made a fortune!"

"Great to have your support," John said, but he couldn't help smiling. Robert ruffled his hair affectionately – less endearing – before turning to Anna.

"The credit must go to you, of course," he said. "Somehow you've managed to transform this clumsy lummox into an elegant dancer. You ought to have seen him in his football days. Fantastic, but he didn't have the fancy footwork that your Ronaldos of today have."

"I don't know," Anna said, "he could do some pretty neat tricks with the ball. Rangers, '85?"

"How on earth do you know about that?" John said. "You're too young."

"How do you think?" she replied, with the cheeky raise of her eyebrow.

Comprehension dawned. He groaned.

Robert glanced between them, obviously still nonplussed. "What?"

"My mother," said John.

Anna giggled. "It's true."

Robert shook his head. "Let's just get this party started, shall we?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Anna agreed.

Robert turned away and announced the start of the party. More cheers rang out as the first song of the night came pounding out of the speakers, and everyone hurried away to either occupy the dancefloor or grab their first drink from the bar. John remained where he was. Anna didn't move either.

"When did Mum show you that?" he asked.

"Oh, ages ago. When I came round for tea that time. You went out to collect fish and chips and she put it on while we waited."

"You don't need to swallow everything she pushes on you, you know."

"I don't mind. I want her to like me."

"How could you ever think she wouldn't?" he said incredulously. "She thinks the world of you." More than that, he knew. She'd never said anything to him, but he knew his mother wished that he would ask her out, make a stand. But he wouldn't. Anna deserved better, and he knew she would get it. Why would she want to settle for him when there were so many able bodied men out there? "Don't be afraid to tell her you're not interested in some footage from more than twenty years ago."

"I wouldn't say that," she said. "I like a bit of football myself. Dad's a Leeds fan. He used to take me when I was a little girl. And I appreciate it even more now. Who doesn't like to slaver over a bunch of sweaty men in shorts?"

"Me, for one."

"Thank God for that," she said, and he couldn't quite work out if she was teasing or not. "Besides, you had a rather nice arse, if I may say so. The camera was generous enough to zoom in on it when you made a challenge. If I wasn't a convert before then I certainly would have been after. Not that you don't have a very fine arse now."

"All right, all right, that's enough of that," he grumbled, folding his arms. "Enough teasing."

She quirked her eyebrow as if she wanted to say something else, but settled instead for shaking her head. "Come on, we'd better get going. This party is starting without us. We'd better get back into the thick of the action."

"God help us," said John, but he followed her towards the bar. However he might feel about this sort of fuss, he was happy that Anna was happy.

* * *

The music pounded, reverberating off his skull. It was giving him a bit of a headache, but he tried not to let it bother him, sloshing the ice in his coke absent-mindedly. The celebration had got off to a lively start, with the poppy music enticing many people to the dance floor. Anna had tried to coax him there herself, but he had deflected her with a smile, preferring to keep his own company while he processed the things that had happened that evening, trying to make sense of everything. He half-watched her now, dancing a lively Time Warp with Gwen. She was in her element, socialising with all of the fellow competitors. Her smile was beautiful.

The rest of his mind was preoccupied with the immediate aftermath of the results. How he'd stumbled his way through the post-result interview with Sybil, in complete shock. How they had been mobbed by the other former contestants on the stage floor just as the live show stopped rolling, all cheering them on. Thomas' face, darker than thunder. And the way his mother had hugged him earlier, so overjoyed, still seeing him as her little boy. It had certainly been eventful.

"Hey, you."

The voice, accompanied by the hand that slid over his back, jerked him out of his ruminations. Unnoticed by him, Anna had slipped away from the dancing and was standing right behind him. Even with him sitting on the bar stool she didn't reach as high as him, and he couldn't stop his involuntarily smile at the thought. She returned it with a beaming grin of her own.

"That's more like it," she said. "I like it when you smile."

"Doesn't happen very often, does it?" he said sardonically, lifting his glass to his lips.

"You were smiling a lot before tonight," she said without missing a beat. His heart did a funny shiver in his chest at the thought that she had noticed his countenance.

"I suppose I have got a reason to smile now," he said, cool, nonchalant. "Remembering Thomas' face is going to give me a laugh for many years to come."

Anna shook her head, her lips quirking. "Daft beggar. Buy me a drink, why don't you."

"What do you want?" he said, reaching for his wallet.

"Just a J20. Best not go for anything else. Got to be ready for tomorrow night, and that won't happen if I've got a bitch of a headache."

"I don't think Jimmy is thinking of that," John remarked as he watched the young lad knock back another beer, stumbling slightly as he stood from his seat.

Anna giggled, leaning against the bar. "Maybe we can use this to our advantage. Maybe Jimmy will feel so ill that he won't be feeling up to the mark, and we can dance ourselves to victory."

John chuckled reluctantly, signalling for the barman. He placed his order and turned his attention back to the young man as it was fulfilled. "Something tells me that we're going to need more than that to win. Jimmy on a terrible day is still better than me."

"You always sell yourself short," she remarked. "I wish you'd start to see what I do when I look at you."

"It's bad enough seeing myself in the mirror in the morning," he quipped.

Anna frowned, but before she could argue, a second voice broke through the noise of the club, no small feat.

"Oi, Smithy!"

Anna turned at once, squealing as she saw the man in question. In the next moment she was swept up into his arms, hoisted well off the ground.

"Put me down, you idiot!" she giggled, smacking him on the shoulder.

Tom Branson grinned, holding out on her for a couple more seconds before complying. He kept his left arm around her waist and thrust his hand in John's direction.

"Congratulations, mate," he said. "Thrilled for you. What can I get you? This deserves some celebrating in style."

John held up his half empty glass of coke. "Not sure about celebrating in style, but I'll have another coke. Cheers."

"What about you, Anna?"

"John's just getting me one," she said. "But I'll demand one later."

"Always with the demands," Tom joked, squeezing her. "Is she as hard on you as she is on me?"

"I'm not as hard on anyone as I am on you, Tom," she said. "You're a bloody nightmare."

Tom threw his head back and laughed. "And here I was thinking you'd missed me."

"Don't push your luck, Branson."

John smiled despite himself. Anna and Tom had a lovely, easy relationship. The young Irish lad complemented Anna perfectly. He was able to rein her in when she was getting too caught up; likewise, she could push him to achieve his best when no one else could. It had been speculated by the media at several times that the two dancing partners had more than one kind of relationship, being of a similar age and working so closely together, but Anna had been quick to dismiss those rumours to him: she thought of Tom like a brother, and she had never regarded him in any other way. John believed her, but seeing a lean, young man like Tom made his insides squirm unpleasantly. He could never compete with someone like that.

Tom picked up the beer he had ordered for himself, taking a sip.

"I have to say," he said, his eyes twinkling, "I never expected you to get this far. It's almost romantic, the hero dancer overcoming the odds like that."

"Hero dancer? Don't make me laugh."

John tensed. He knew that voice.

Thomas.

He didn't turn around, but he could see Anna's face. Moments ago it had been alive with laughter. Now it was closed and defensive.

"Shut up, Thomas," she said. "Go and be a sore loser somewhere else."

Thomas snorted. "_You'd_ be a sore loser too if some useless cripple had taken your place in the final. Fucking joke." He was slurring. The drink was making him even nastier.

"All right, Thomas, no need to be like that," said Tom lightly, though John could detect the underlying tension. "Everyone's having a good time here, leave it be."

Anna was less diplomatic. Puffing out indignantly like a fluffy little snidget, her eyes flashed. "You're just making yourself sound even more pathetic, so shut up now while there's still something that the public can like in you."

Thomas chuckled darkly. "I'll give you one thing, at least you're facing me like a man. Too ashamed to look at me, Bates, because you know that I'm speaking the truth?"

Privately, there _was_ a part of John that knew he didn't deserve the place he had got. The public had voted for him because Thomas' vile comments had been live. It wasn't his dancing ability that they had voted for. It was because they pitied him, the poor cripple at the mercy of other contestants' contempt. The public was merely showing that it had power, and that it wasn't afraid to wield it. On merit alone, Thomas and Jimmy should have been the finalists. But he wasn't going to let Thomas know that he had got under his skin.

"No, it's just that I've had enough of your ugly face for one evening," he commented.

"Oh, I see how it is. You haven't had enough of darling Anna's, is that what you're saying? Yes, I can see it now. How long did it take to get her into bed, Bates? Did she open her legs for you that first day?"

"That's enough, Thomas," said Tom sharply.

But Thomas, clearly too fuelled by drink, was not going to stop his tirade just yet. "I must say, Anna, your standards are very low. You must be pretty bad in bed if you think that someone like him is a decent shag."

Anna opened her mouth to retort, but John's fraying temper had reached its boiling point. His stool screeched along the floor as he pushed himself away from the bar. He turned around with deliberate slowness.

"Shut up," he growled through clenched teeth. "Shut up, you little rat."

Thomas smirked. "Make me."

"It would be my greatest pleasure."

"John, don't," Anna warned.

"Has she got you wrapped around her little finger, Bates? Are you so grateful for her shagging you that you'll do anything she tells you to?"

"I'll give you one chance to take it back, Thomas," he said slowly. "Show Anna some respect."

The drink had got him too much, John could tell. Thomas smirked, putting his beer glass down with a clatter. "Not likely. She's probably rigged it by whoring herself –"

Whatever the end of Thomas' sentence was, John never found out. The moment that awful word left the younger man's lips, he lunged at him. Glasses rattled on the bar top; several fell to the floor as Thomas' flailing elbow hit them. They shattered, sending shards flying in every direction. John barely noticed them crunching beneath his feet as he brought his arm back and swung at the younger man.

His fist connected with Thomas' jaw, sending his head reeling. The sound of his jaw snapping was audible even over the thumping music. Dimly, as if he was hearing it through water, he heard Tom swear and Anna shriek, but he paid no attention. Thomas came back, holding his jaw, spitting out a mouthful of blood. He had evidently bit his tongue with the unexpected impact.

"You bastard," he snarled. John barely had time to react before Thomas lunged towards him in return, grabbing at the lapels of his jacket. They grappled awkwardly, sending bar stools crashing to the floor, punching wherever they could reach. He could hear Anna screaming at Tom to bloody _do_ something in the cacophony of sound, before his nose exploded with pain – Thomas had landed a direct hit. Grunting, he reeled back, but the pain only made his temper worse, and he went back in for the kill, refusing to be the one to back down.

"That's enough!" Tom bellowed, and John had a second to realise that he'd looped his arms around Thomas' waist and was heaving him away before he felt arms around his own.

"John, came the bloody hell down," panted Robert in his ear, squeezing him harder than was necessary. "You're making a scene."

It took several seconds for John to realise that the others had gathered around them. He could see Molesley's pale, shocked face in the crowd, alongside the horror written across Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes'. He didn't dare look for his mother.

Then, the frenzied flash of a bulb as he stood like a deer in the headlight, completely confounded. The bloody paparazzi. The bloody paparazzi was at the party, and his shame would be blown across every newspaper going before the morning dawned. Once more, he had let himself down.

Robert's voice was strong, ringing clearly in the awful silence that had followed with the absence of the music.

"That's it, everyone, the spectacle is over," he growled, shoving his hand into the camera lens of a hapless reporter. "Give us some space down here."

John panted, rubbing the back of his hand roughly under his nose, catching the blood that still trickled. It bloody hurt, but it was no less than he deserved. His shot nerves were fraying again with everyone staring at him as if he was some specimen in a zoo. Turning away, he shouldered his way through the crowd, keeping his head down, trying to block out the whispers that followed. He had to get out. He couldn't bear the disappointment on everyone's face. Not now.

Once out in the cool air, he took a deep breath, letting it clear his senses. He shouldn't have allowed Thomas to get to him like that. He should have been the bigger man. Robert had to be absolutely furious, and quite rightly so. How many times had his friend tried to keep him on the straight and narrow after the injury that had threatened to derail his whole life? How many times had he kept him out of trouble when his hot temper had got the better of him?

And then there was his mother. His mother, who had seen the worst of him but had forgiven him every time. His mother, who had to face yet another humiliation that her son had brought to her door. She was notorious because of him. He had given her a reason to feel ashamed, to worry about going out on the street in case she was met with disapproving stares and none-too subtle whispers.

What kind of son put his mother through that, when she had brought him into the world, nursed him, made sure that he never knew anything but love? It was a poor way to repay her for everything that she'd done for him. Christ, what a bastard he was.

Lastly, there was Anna. Anna, who had stuck by him when others would not have, who had never shown anything but support for him. It had to have been difficult, getting stuck with someone like him, but she'd borne it with grace.

Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his mobile phone, stabbing in the number of a taxi firm. People might gossip, but he had to take the chance. There was no other way of getting home tonight – he hadn't brought the car, and no one else was in a fit state to drive. The operator reassured him that the taxi was only a few minutes away and would be there sharp. He thanked her and rung off.

"Well, no one can say that you don't put in a performance, Mr. Bates."

At Anna's voice behind him, his shoulders slumped. He had hoped that he could slip away without having to face her until tomorrow. Postponing his shame had been his one hope. Now he couldn't even have that.

"Go back inside, Anna," he murmured.

"Not likely. What on earth did you think you were doing?"

He heard the click of her heels on the deserted pavement, then felt her warm presence by his side as she came to a stop. She didn't sound angry, just weary. No wonder. He would be tired of his bullshit if he was her, too.

"I don't like Thomas."

"Well, I thought that was obvious." Now there was a tinge of amusement in her tone. That was worse. That meant that she was on the verge of forgiving him. She was too nice to him, when he deserved to be shunned. "I don't think anyone likes Thomas. But you shouldn't have let him get to you like that."

"He was saying awful things about you."

"I don't really care what he says about me. He just sounds bitter."

"But he was denouncing you, holding you in contempt. Doesn't it bother you that he's throwing around allegations about who you're sleeping with? It could have an effect on your whole career."

"At some point everyone and their mother wants to know about who you're sleeping with. But it's no one's business but my own. People can do all the guessing they want."

"It was stupid anyway," John muttered. "You'd do much better than me."

Anna didn't reply, starting on another topic entirely. "The paparazzi are having a field day inside. God knows how Robert is containing them. They'll be out for more pictures as soon as they can escape."

John winced. "Jesus. It's a good job that I've ordered a taxi then, isn't it?"

Anna seemed surprised. "You were going to slip away without saying goodbye?"

"After that performance, you think it's a good idea to return?"

"Not really," she agreed.

Headlights appeared at the end of the road.

"That's probably my taxi. You should get back inside. It's freezing out here. I'll see you tomorrow."

But she shook her head. He frowned, but didn't question her. She probably wanted to wave him off. She was oddly protective like that, like a mother bear. It was surprising that she didn't have children of her own yet; John had never known someone with qualities that were so tailored to being a mother. She was still single, for God's sake. How was a woman like Anna still single?

The car rolled to a stop in front of them. The window wound down.

"Bates?" said the burly taxi driver, shooting them a brief, bored glance. This was a bonus – clearly the man had no idea who the hell he was.

"That's right," John said, stepping forward to open the car door. He slid along the back seat, reaching out to slam the door shut behind him…

…And found resistance.

Anna held the door open.

"What are you doing?"

She glanced around, ignoring his question.

And slid into the taxi beside him.

"Anna!"

Still taking no notice, she leaned forward and rattled off an address to the driver – an address that was definitely not his own.

"Righto," said the driver in that same bored voice, and pulled away from the curb before John could utter another word. However, the motion of the car sprang him back to life.

"What are you doing?" he hissed at her, trying to keep his voice below the hum of the engine.

"What does it look like? I'm coming with you."

"This is ridiculous. Go back."

She set her mouth. "You look a right bloody mess and I'm making sure you get home safe. How would I know that you hadn't collapsed somewhere?"

"You're not taking me home," he pointed out.

"The paparazzi will be swarming round your house in ten minutes flat, of course I'm not."

"So where…?"

"You're coming back to mine until it dies down," she said shortly. "I can clean you up a bit and no one will think to look there first. By the time they do it'll be too late."

A horrifying sense of disquiet crawled over him. "You can't be serious."

"I am. But we'll talk later." She glanced in the direction of the driver. He didn't appear to be listening, earbuds rammed into his ears and some dull, banging music resonating tinnily around the car, but it was hard to tell with these people. John wanted to argue _now_, but he saw the sense in what she was saying. So, scowling, he folded his arms across his chest and settled back in the seat. Anna turned her attention to the scenery outside. The silence was not pleasant.

At last, the taxi rolled to a stop. This was a part of the neighbourhood that John had never visited. It was nice, quiet and suburban, the kind of place where someone might want to raise a family. His gaze drifted to Anna as she undid the car door and wriggled out. Was that what she'd been hoping when she'd chosen this as her place to live? That she might fall in love and raise a family on these streets? He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Thank you," Anna was saying to the driver through his open window. She fumbled in her bag for her purse, but John laid his hand on her arm.

"I've got this," he said gruffly, shoving thirty pounds into the bloke's grubby fist. "Keep the change."

"Yeah," said the driver, then did a double take, clearly taking notice of him for the first time. "Bloody hell, you look a mess."

"I gathered that. Goodnight."

Without another word, John spun on his heel and walked away. He heard Anna saying her own hurried goodnights before her heels clicked on the pavement behind him.

"You're going the wrong way," she said reprovingly. Her hand touched his sleeve. "Do you really think that I live in a four bedroomed house on my own? I have a flat about fifteen minutes' walk away."

"Then why didn't you say to get dropped off there?"

"Well, you never know if the driver recognised us or not. If he tips off the press they'll come to where we got dropped off first. We've got time to disappear."

John shook his head, but he couldn't stop the small smile from spreading over his face. He'd picked up early on that Anna had a mischievous streak, but he had never been aware that she could be so scheming. It was sexy – but that wasn't a thought to be lingered over.

They set off together in the opposite direction. Now that he was walking further, John was aware of a throbbing that was starting up in the tissue of his knee. Christ, that was all he needed. He'd struggled enough tonight. He would never make it through tomorrow's performance at this rate. He must have wrenched it as he and Thomas had fought.

At last, they came to a stop in front of a modern block of apartments. There was a bright light shining out front. Anna fumbled in her bag for her key card and swiped them in. John followed her through the shining lobby towards the lift. She still hadn't spoken a word since her explanation of where she lived. She didn't seem inclined to speak now, either, jabbing the button for the fifth floor. John sneaked a look at himself in the mirror that ran the entire way around the large space. He winced as he took in his appearance. Blood had crusted under his nose and stained his face. It had dried on his crisp white shirt. A bruise was just beginning to mar his cheekbone. Make up would probably cover it the following evening...but seeing the result of his brawl only made him feel more ashamed. Just what had been running through his head? He'd shown himself up completely, and looked terrible for it.

The lift chimed softly, signalling their arrival at their destination. Anna stepped out first, motioning for him to follow. He dragged his feet behind her, keeping his gaze on the sparkling tiled floor. It was too soon when they reached her flat. Anna swiped her key card down the lock again, and they were admitted.

A floral smell hit his nostrils immediately as he closed the door behind him while Anna fumbled for the light switch. Light flooded the room, and John blinked in the sudden brightness, squinting until he'd adjusted.

As expected, Anna's place was spotless. The door opened immediately onto a large living space. Huge windows from floor to ceiling afforded her a sweeping view of the outside world. Two large leather sofas sat at a right angle. A flat screen TV perched on the wall. Chic wooden floorboards creaked underfoot. A white rug sat in the space in front of the sofas, with a coffee table on top. The place was minimalist but pretty, exactly how he had imagined Anna's space to be.

"Sit yourself down," she instructed as she made her way across to the curtains to shut out the world. "I'll get some hot water."

"That's not necessary," he protested.

"Don't argue with me, John Bates. I'll have you know that I can be a tough task master when I want to be."

"Believe me, I already know. I've danced with you for the past six months, remember?"

She thumped his arm playfully on the way to the kitchen that opened out from the sitting room, but she was smiling. He took it as a victory. Still, he did yield to her demand, limping across the open space to one of the leather sofas and sinking down onto it with a groan. He heard Anna clattering away in the kitchen and pulled his phone out of his jacket. He really ought to get in touch with his mother. Everything had happened so fast that the thought had gone clean out of his mind. But she would be worried if she didn't know where he was, and that was the last thing that he wanted her to do. She'd worried about him far too much in the past. In her golden years she shouldn't still have to.

He found a text from Robert when he unlocked the screen, and opened it immediately.

_Mate, text me to let me know where you are and that you're okay. Your mum tried to text you but she's complaining that she doesn't know how technology of today works, so I doubt she's managed it. I'll let her know that you're safe when you reply. If not, we WILL send a search party out for you. Reply within the hour. PS, cracking swing._

John couldn't help his snort of laughter. Typical Robert. Quickly, he composed a reply. Thank God he was still within the hour.

_All is well. I'm with a friend. Tell Mum not to worry. I'll go and see her tomorrow morning. Sorry that I spoiled things._

He'd barely set the phone down before it lit up again, signalling another message.

_Glad to hear it. Hope this friend is looking after you. By the by, Anna seems to have disappeared too. Wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you? And I wouldn't say it spoiled things, but it did liven up proceedings. I found it rather entertaining. Can't say the same for your mother. I'm sure you'll be on the naughty step in the morning._

He let out a breath. That was perfect. Robert was the most oblivious person he knew. Every single one of his daughters had conducted secret love affairs right under his nose, and yet the moment that Anna went missing, he automatically jumped to conclusions. Not that he was technically wrong, but it was maddening all the same.

_I'll be fine. No idea about Anna. I thought she was with Tom. Maybe she's snuck home. As for Mum, I've spent most of my life on said step. I'll ride the storm._

The reply was quick.

_She's certainly snuck off somewhere._

John's mouth dried at the implication. That needed nipping in the bud.

_Barking up the wrong tree there, mate. Goodnight._

Once more the screen lit up.

_You both look like poor puppies whenever you set eyes on each other. But I realise I'm stepping on toes here. Goodnight, you old dog._

Before John had the chance to compose a message setting his best friend straight, Anna re-appeared in the doorway. She was clutching a bowl in her hands.

"Who's that?" she said, nodding to his phone.

"Just Robert. He wanted me to let him know that I was still alive to put Mother's mind at rest."

"You should give her a call when I'm done, let her know that you're okay."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Don't worry, you don't have to tell her where you are." She bent down and put the bowl on the floor, then fell to her knees. "Now hold still."

"What are you doing?"

"Dancing the cancan," she deadpanned. "I'm cleaning your cuts. Thomas did quite a number on you."

"And how did he look after?"

Anna's quirking lips betrayed her. "Worse than you. Now stop preening like some kind of simpleton and hold still."

He did as she'd bidden him, holding his breath as she dabbed tenderly at his face. He could feel the rush of her hot breath against his cheek as she worked, and she stared at him with an intensity that made his blood thrum as she dabbed the cloth around his face, removing whatever traces of blood there might have been, compressing on the sore spots to reduce the swelling. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, John could feel his aches and pains acutely. His cut lip stung, and his eye throbbed dully. At least it wasn't swelling shut. That was one thing. Otherwise there might have been problems tomorrow if he couldn't even see what he was supposed to be doing. Not that it would make any difference – he ought to hand Jimmy the crown right now.

Anna chewed her lip when she concentrated, he noticed. How had he never seen it before in all the time they'd spent together? She looked utterly adorable. And more than that. He could feel the heat rising in his face, and quickly averted his gaze, unable to take the electricity that crackled between them. His new resting spot wasn't any better – he could see the tops of her breasts peeking shyly from where her dress dipped. He quickly looked to the side, trying to temper the bolt of want that had seized his body. Her gentle touch on his face was not helping matters in the slightest. It was soft, loving, intent on taking his pain away. Once, her fingertip brushed his bare skin, and he couldn't suppress his shiver, his eyelids fluttering despite himself. She'd touched his hands and arms a thousand times, but there was something so deeply intimate about her touch on his face. His throat seared dryly. A dull buzzing started up in his head at her close proximity. The warm water trickling down his face was nothing in comparison with the heat of her skin.

"Nearly done," she whispered. He barely heard her. She set the bowl to one side, reached for a fresh cloth. "Your lip has been bleeding."

He could taste that hard, iron taste, but somehow managed a smile. "I've had worse. It'll pass soon enough."

But Anna's eyes had sparked decisively, and she dipped the fresh rag into the water, saturating the edge. He held his breath as she brought it closer to him, dabbing at his mouth with the tenderness of a lover. He flinched despite himself.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Am I hurting you?"

"Just a bit sore," he managed. "I'll be all right."

She nodded, continuing to dab at the blood gently, and he tried not to look lower than her chin, knowing exactly what he would see if he did. The gentle slope between her breasts, the milky white skin that was perfect to fit a mouth to…

He shifted quickly to stop those thoughts, almost knocking the rag out of her hands.

It was his turn to apologise now. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm all done."

The breath came easier as she pulled away, dropping the rag into the soiled water.

"Ideally you'd see a doctor," she said as she wiped her hands dry. "You never know, you might have concussion."

"I'd count that as a blessing if it got me out of tomorrow," he answered dryly.

"You don't mean that."

"No. I suppose not. I just…we both know that I shouldn't be there."

Anna frowned at him. "What?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a boyhood tick he had never been able to shake when he was nervous or embarrassed. "Thomas _was_ a far better dancer, no matter how much of a prick he is. I can understand why he's angry."

"I wouldn't give _him_ a second thought. He has no one else but himself to blame. If he wasn't such a snake then people might have voted."

John considered letting the comment slide for a moment. But Anna could always read his emotions, even though she frequently told him she didn't know what was going on inside his head, and she was the one person he felt comfortable confiding in when something was troubling him. He heaved a disdainful, unpleasant sigh. "That's just it though, isn't it?"

Anna cocked an eyebrow at him. "What's just it?"

The words as bitter as ash in his mouth, John said, "I got the sympathy vote. They saw me as some sort of disabled victim. I can see the headlines now. But I didn't want that. I wanted to get through on merit alone, not relying on the pity of others." He'd always hated pity, had loathed it from the moment the bullet had torn the ligaments in his knee, because it had taken away his pride and independence and left him as a nobody. He rubbed his fingers furiously over his eyes to keep his emotions under control.

Anna didn't say anything for several moments. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, frightened that he would see pity at his hatred of pity in her gentle blue eyes.

Her hand touched his arm.

His head shot up; he could never help himself. He needed to stop doubting her. She had never once let him down in the time that he had known her. She was steadfast and loyal to an almost painful degree. There was no pity in her eyes. No, there was something else entirely. John swallowed hard. Her eyes burned with it.

"Some people might pity you," she whispered. "But _I_ never could. Never."

John couldn't breathe. Her hand slid down his arm. Found his. Locked their fingers together. He had to say something. She was looking at him with burning sincerity, unwavering. She wasn't drunk. She knew what she was doing. But he had to stop her before she did something that she regretted.

"Anna –" he said, trying to prise his hand away, but he got no further than that.

Because at the sound of his voice she closed the small distance between them and pressed her mouth to his.

At the first contact, the contact that he had longed for for so long, John lost the ability to function. Even as a muted part of his brain screamed at him to pull away, to put an end to this before Anna made a huge mistake, he remained as if he'd been paralysed, aware of nothing but the pressure of her hand against his, the weight of her sweet, sweet mouth.

She lingered for a few moments, chaste, before pulling away. Her breath was hot on his lips as she nudged her nose self-consciously against the side of his. A tiny, worried smile touched the corner of her mouth.

"Whatever I feel, it's not pity," she whispered, the words even more intimate in the quiet.

No, not pity. Something all the more dangerous because he had longed for it for so long. He knew he should pull away from her and put some distance between them once more, but he was a weak, weak man. Her hand on his was like a magnet, and he couldn't break free of her force field.

Anna didn't give him any further opportunity to fight an internal battle. When he did not pull immediately away, she clearly took it as incentive to push him again. Before he could properly register exactly what was going on her mouth was on his again, more insistent this time.

The first brush of her tongue against his bottom lip broke him.

Anna made a quiet, desirous sound in the back of his throat as his hands flew up to cup her face, and her own found their way to the base of his neck, angling his head further down to hers as she pressed closer. He was acutely aware of the side of her breast brushing his knee as she leaned in, warm through the layers that separated them. Burning, even. Burning for him.

When she pulled back at last, her eyes were dark and wild, her mouth red and swollen from the intensity of their kiss. John could feel heat in his own cheeks, his heart beating triple fold in his chest. He couldn't even remember the last time he had been kissed like that, with such raw passion and desire. It was dangerous. He needed to re-erect the barriers that had started to rot and crumble.

But even before he could resolve himself, Anna's hands were on his bare skin again, sending shivers down his spine. She was breathing hard through her nose, still so close that he could smell the perfume she'd sprayed at the base of her throat.

"Let's go to the bedroom," she breathed.

That sprang him into action. Pushing her hand away, he clambered to his feet, ignoring the twist in his knee and the chafe at the front of his trousers – it was difficult to deny how much he wanted her.

"We shouldn't," he said.

Anna rose to her feet too, barely reaching his heart now that she'd kicked off her heels. Still, there could be no denying the sheer will in her eyes. Her hand caught his wrist.

"Why not?" she challenged. "I'm a grown woman. I can make my own mind up about these things. I'm not drunk. You wouldn't be taking advantage."

"And what would everyone else say?" he retorted. "They'd all jeer at you, and the papers would have a field day."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," she snapped. "If you stopped wallowing in self-pity for one minute you'd see that I don't give a damn what anyone says. My private life is none of their business. I can sleep with who I want when I want. I don't see you as a sympathy shag. In fact, I find you very, very attractive when you're not being a moody arse. And even then too."

"It would ruin your reputation."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Anna heaved a sigh. "It's not a spur of the moment decision. I've had the one glass of champagne at the start of the party. I've fancied you for ages. I fancied you before any of this started."

Hearing those words pass from her lips made John pause. It had been years since any woman had shown a genuine interest in him, and even before then the promise of money had been more of a driving factor than any real desire. Anna was so different from anyone else he had ever known. She hadn't known him in his prime, when even he could admit that he hadn't been a bad looking bloke. All she'd had to go on was the middle-aged softness, the lines on his face, the mangled knee. The broken man.

And somehow she'd seen beyond all that. She _fancied _him.

Clearly sensing that she was winning despite his better judgement, Anna pressed, "I don't want quick fumble to relieve the tension. I want you to see what I see."

His throat was dry. "And what do you see?"

She cupped his face between tender palms. It hurt like the devil to have the pressure on his face, but when she rose up on her tiptoes, the exquisite pressure of her body against his more than made up for it. All he could smell was her perfume from this close proximity. It was difficult to breathe.

"Let me show you what I see," she whispered. Her hot breath tickled his face. He couldn't pull away.

She kissed him again, slowly, deeply. And he was a weak, weak man, his own hands finding stability on her waist as she plundered him. Defeated him.

Saved him.

He ached all over, sore and bruised. But in all his life he had never felt as good as he felt in that moment.

When they broke apart, Anna sank back down onto her heels, finding his hand once more. She twined their fingers together. John's heart beat fast in his chest as her palm pressed firmly against his. A perfect fit.

Without another word, she began to lead him away.

* * *

Anna was still trembling when she finally slipped from his body to melt into the mattress beside him. The contact between them was not lost for long; her hand searched the space between them until she found his. It took all his energy to squeeze back, but he couldn't not acknowledge how amazing it felt. Neither of them spoke for several long minutes. John could barely process it. They'd just had sex. He'd just had sex with Anna Smith, the most beautiful, thoughtful, kind, gentle woman in the world. And the adjectives could go on. There was no sequence of words that could ever describe how amazing she was. The aching in his body hadn't lessened – in fact, with their antics and even with Anna doing all the work, it had increased – but never before had he embraced it so.

Still not speaking, Anna finally shifted, rolling onto her side and snuggling up against him. Her small palm pressed to his chest, her fingers curling in the hair that grew there. She would be able to feel just how hard his heart was pounding. He shifted his head slightly, peering down in the darkness. The artificial lights of the city lit her face like a ghost's. Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes a stark contrast to her pale skin, and her silvered hair fell in rivers across her body and down her back. She was content, peaceful. With him. It made little sense, but John wasn't going to hurt his brain trying to understand it. Especially not after the passion they had just shared.

As if sensing his thoughts, Anna mumbled, "You'll stay the night, won't you?"

He couldn't imagine slipping from the bed and leaving her alone. He never wanted to leave the sanctuary that they had created here tonight.

"I'm staying if you want me to," he breathed.

"I do. More than anything." Anna craned her head up, seeking out his mouth with her eyes still closed. He couldn't stop himself from cupping the side of her face as they kissed slowly, feeling like some clumsy giant in comparison with her delicate, elfin features. When at last they parted she snugged herself against him once more, her breath blowing across his chest as she said, "I'm not going to complain about anything that led you to me tonight, but there will be some backlash tomorrow over you and Thomas."

At the sound of his nemesis' name, some of the euphoria soured.

"I'm sorry about that," he muttered. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"Don't apologise. He had it coming. He was horrible to everyone all the time. I'm only surprised that it took someone that long, and that you felt that you had to do it for me."

John snorted sardonically, before sobering. "I was tired of the way that he was insinuating that what was – or wasn't as the case was – going on between us was nasty and wrong. Him calling you a…a whore was just the final straw. I had to shut him up."

"So you hit him." Anna's voice held more than a little trace of amusement, and she squeezed his bicep with the hand that was flung across his body.

"He'd pushed me to my limit. And none of the warnings spoken to him in the past seemed to have stuck."

"I've never had a man literally fight for me before. I know I shouldn't, but I feel quite honoured."

_I would do anything for you_, he wanted to tell her. He wanted to pull her into the circle of his arms and never let her go again.

He just wanted her.

"I wonder if the papers will bite?" Anna mused. "You know, with what Thomas said. About us."

"Does it bother you?"

"Well, it's only speculation, isn't it? They can't begin to know the truth. I quite like that. It being our little secret. At least for now."

She pushed herself up to kiss him again, and he fell into the sensations. Already he knew that he never wanted to do this with anyone else ever again. Everything about this was perfect. He grasped at her hips under the sheets, the hairs on his body rising when she hummed in the back of her throat and pressed nearer, her bare skin sheer electricity against his own. But she did not move to take things further for the second time, and when she pulled away she settled down beside him, pressing her ear over his heart.

"Speaking of secrets, I never rang Mum to let her know where I was," he murmured idly, finding a strand of her hair and twirling it between his forefinger and thumb. It was like silk. He wished he could bury his face in it and sleep with her scent surrounding him.

"Is it too late now?" Anna's own voice was heavy with sleepiness, and she didn't open her eyes. John was hit with the sudden craving to press his mouth to her forehead. He cleared his throat to distract his thoughts, peering through the darkness at the clock on the bedside table.

"It's gone two," he said. "Christ, she's probably worried sick."

"If she's worried she probably hasn't gone to bed," Anna suggested, opening her eyes now. "Try ringing her mobile. At least that way you won't wake her up with the landline if she _has_ gone to bed."

"My phone is in the living room," he said. "I'll fetch it. I'll, um…" He gestured awkwardly. "I'll just clean up a little first."

"Bathroom's straight across the hall," she said. "I keep the towels in the cupboard. Take what you like."

She shuffled away from him as he rolled out of bed, planting bare feet on the floor. He waited for the throbbing to dull again at his sudden movement, then padded around the bed towards the door. He could feel Anna's eyes on him every step of the way. He was mildly uncomfortable with his naked state, though she had made it very clear that she enjoyed every part of him, middle-aged softness and all.

He switched the light on in the bathroom. He located the cupboard and pulled out a fresh towel, blushing as he dampened it. As he set about tidying himself up he glanced around at his surroundings, at the touches of Anna that brightened up the almost clinical space. She had creams and sprays overflowing on the little shelf, a bright pink sponge suctioned to the tiles, a razor balanced on the side of the tub. He dumped the towel in the bath when he'd finished, not quite sure what to do with it, then clicked the light back off.

In the living room he fumbled for his phone in the dark. No messages from his mother, but one from Robert, stating that she had phoned him several times in quite a tizzy about his whereabouts. Guilt flashed through him as he composed a quick message in reply and then scrolled to find her number.

She answered on the first ring.

"Johnny? Is that you? Oh, thank God!"

"It's me, Mum," he confirmed.

"Where on earth are you? I've been worried sick about you! I can't work this infernal thing and I haven't been able to ring you and I've been terrified thinking that you've fallen somewhere or got into another fight or –"

"Mum, calm down, everything's fine. I'm fine. Just a few bruises. I'll be right as rain in a few days."

"But what happened to make you lose that Irish temper of yours? I know you've been a little on edge lately with how stressful all of this is, but that's no excuse for hitting someone else. I know that man was a horrible bugger saying all those nasty things about you on air, but it's still not an excuse to resort to violence."

"Are you really going to give me a lecture over the phone?" he sighed wearily. "I'm sorry I let you down, Mum. Truly."

"But what made you lose your temper?" she pressed.

"Mum –"

"I won't let it drop until you tell me the truth, John."

He huffed, trying to temper the frustration in his tone. "If you must know, he insulted Anna."

Silence met his statement. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I see," came his mother's voice. "Well, that makes a lot of sense."

"It's not what you think." Even as the words spilled from his mouth, he winced. Here he was, standing completely naked in Anna's living room, the heat of sex still on his skin, lying through his teeth.

"I'm not thinking anything," said his mother, though the tone of her voice belied her words. "Where are you now?"

John hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should lie. He didn't have many friends that he could fall back on. He could say that he was with Robert, but if she'd spoken to him earlier in the evening then she would know he wasn't being truthful.

"I'm with Anna," he muttered.

"I see." His mother sounded vaguely triumphant. "And is she taking good care of you?"

He flushed hotly despite the fact that she couldn't possibly know how he was standing. "I'm in her spare room for the night. I'll be back early tomorrow morning."

"Very good. Try and get some sleep, son." The old girl was smirking. He could hear it in her tone. His cheeks burned even hotter. He hadn't felt quite so vulnerable in a long time.

"Goodnight, Mum," he said firmly. "I've got a key. I'll let myself in early."

"Goodnight, son. As long as you're all right."

"I am."

He waited until she rang off before pulling the phone away from his ear, tossing it back onto the sofa. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed before slowly returning to the bedroom.

He half-expected to find Anna asleep when he returned; she'd been drowsy when he'd left her. But she stirred when he closed the door behind him, propping herself up on an elbow.

"Come here," she whispered.

John was powerless to resist her, sliding back under the still warm sheets beside her. Now that it was over he was suddenly shy in her presence, the feeling of her silky, lithe limbs against his own so unfamiliar.

So unfamiliar, but so right, a voice in the back of his mind whispered.

When he was settled – on his back, his right leg stretched at an awkward angle away from him to alleviate some of the tightness in the joint – Anna crept closer again, settling her delicious weight over his good left side. Her head fit snugly into the curve of his shoulder, almost as if it had been fashioned for that very purpose. She breathed in deeply, her fingers idling through the hair on his chest. It felt incredible, to have her so close to him.

And yet he couldn't relax.

Evidently realising this, Anna peered up at him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his faintly stubbled jaw.

"Hey, what is it?" she whispered.

John debated telling her it was nothing, but he didn't think he could lie to her when she was naked and vulnerable in his arms. Heaving a sigh, he pushed his hair back from his forehead.

"It's this," he confessed. "I'm not used to it."

"Sharing a bed? I know, it is strange. A nice kind of strange." She sounded uncertain as she slowly pushed herself away from him. He avoided her gaze, glancing out at the landscape through the window.

"Well, there is that," he admitted. It _had_ been years since he'd last spent the night with a woman – his last evening of drunken, regret-fuelled sex had led to him lying awake by Vera's side all night, smelling the booze on her own breath, the points of her nipples pressing into his side as she'd slumped in a stupor beside him. He'd hated himself for his weakness, sick to the stomach for falling back into her clutches. He'd promised himself it would be the last time – and it had been. He had resisted her attempts to lure him back to bed by swearing off women entirely.

Until now.

"I don't usually do this kind of thing," he said finally. "Sleeping with women before dating them."

"If it helps, I haven't done it before either," said Anna.

He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or not. Anna was special, not some quick shag to throw aside now that he was satisfied. He had always dreamed of more with her. Dates to quaint little restaurants, romantic weekends away.

And more than that. A marriage. Children.

Christ, why was this so difficult?

"You might not believe me, but I haven't slept with anyone since Vera," he confided at last. "I suppose I've never felt the desire to, so this has come out of the blue."

Anna's eyes were steady and non-judgemental as they looked upon him. "And…?"

"There's no 'and', as such," he said carefully. "I could never regret what we've done, Anna." He paused to take a deep breath, watching the way that she relaxed. "I've wanted you for so long. I just wish that it had happened differently. I wish I had been brave enough to take you out a few times first, planned for it a little better."

"Not everything has to be perfect, you know," Anna said, pressing her mouth to the meat of his shoulder. "_You_ were perfect, and I think that's the most important thing."

John leaned in to her touch, his arm finding its way around her slim body of its own accord even as he let out a regretful sigh. "The press is going to be swarming round like flies after I made a fool of myself with Thomas, never mind if they find out about this as well. Nothing good ever comes of those bastards."

"I don't care what they say," she said.

"I do," John countered. "I've lived through it before."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"There's no need to act coy," he said quietly. "The stories are out there for everyone to see. It doesn't matter when the news is good, but as soon as the tide turns then it turns into a blood bath. No doubt the business is archived somewhere where anyone can take a look if they feel like it. And these kinds of scandals never fade from people's minds, even if there are no written records left. Vera cheated on me over and over again when I was injured. She wasn't even discreet about it. Ex-teammates, people I had considered friends. They'd all been quick to take her to bed as soon as she fluttered those eyelashes at them. Paparazzi caught her leaving hotels, and the pictures would be there splashed across the front of every shitty tabloid going. I couldn't escape them. She didn't care what I thought. In some sick way I admired her brazenness. She often told me that she had needs that I could no longer fulfil, and it would be wrong of me to stop her. I was ashamed. I felt less than a man. The…the injury…" He swallowed hard, hating to say the words when he was lying so intimately with her. "The injury meant that I couldn't perform in bed the same way. Vera liked sex, but it was torture for my knee. The doctors had told me that it could be months, possibly more than a year, before I would be able to do anything like that again. It wasn't good enough for Vera."

Anna hadn't batted an eyelid, not even at the mention of his intimacy with another woman. She simply slipped her dainty fingers through his. "How could she turn her back on you like that? Sex isn't the only part of a relationship."

"We were young back then. I'd been thrust into a world that I had never expected, only for all the joys to be taken away. Vera had had high hopes for the future, only to have them dashed. Even now, I can't blame her. We weren't good for each other. I can see that with hindsight."

Anna moved even closer, vining herself completely against his body. His skin sparked where she touched him. He tried to temper his reaction to the swell of her naked breast as it brushed his side. She propped her chin over his heart.

"I don't know how you forgave her," she whispered.

He laughed bitterly. "Oh, I never forgave her. That was part of the reason I drank. I drank to forget the image of her out there with other men. But I couldn't forget. Our relationship was ugly and unhealthy, Anna. She liked to remind me of my failures. I was vicious in my accusations of what she got up to. I could never sleep around like she did. I suppose seeing the disappointment in my mother's face was what held me back. Although I've no clue why – I disappointed her in every other area."

"Your mother loves you so much," Anna protested. "You could never disappoint her. Look how she was cheering you on tonight."

"She wasn't thrilled with the way I ended the evening, and I deserve that disappointment. But what I'm trying to say is this: through every shit thing that's happened in the last twenty years, the press has been there to document it. I can't ever erase it or even bury it because they're always there to pick at the carcasses like vultures, and it drives me mad. All I want is a normal life. I'm not saying I should be allowed to forget my sins, but I'm tired of living under the shadow of them. If they get hold of what you and I shared tonight then they will twist it and maim it and make it into something sordid and dirty. And I couldn't bear that, Anna. I know I'm not very good at expressing myself, but you mean the world to me. You will be tainted by association, and it isn't fair."

"Isn't it up to me to decide what is and what isn't fair?" she said softly.

"What kind of man would I be if I let you throw away your prospects?"

"They're mine to throw away. And you know you can't take me to bed one day and then pretend that it meant nothing to either of us the next. Because you know that wouldn't be true. Nothing has to be tainted. It's how we choose to handle it that determines what happens." She took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell you something now. Something that I've never told anyone before, and something I will never breathe word of again."

This caught John's attention at once. Anna chewed at her lip, her eyes anxious but determined. He couldn't possibly imagine Anna having some awful secret that she was afraid to speak about. He had never known her to be anything less than sunny, a bright light in his eternal darkness.

"You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable," he said.

She shook her head. "I want to tell you. I want to tell you because I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone else in my life. I'm not telling you to make you feel self-conscious or apprehensive. I'm telling you because I have nothing to hide from you."

John wasn't really sure what he should say to that, so he kept quiet, though his mind was whirring. Anna shifted, pushing herself into a sitting position. He followed her, waiting for her to take the lead. She slipped her hand into his, drawing it onto her lap. She stared down at it, her fingers mapping his longer, broader ones as she spoke to his palm.

"Once, a few years ago now, I almost made the biggest mistake of my life. It was the same night that Tom and I won the competition at Blackpool."

"Go on," he prompted her gently when she stopped to take a deep breath.

"I nearly slept with Tom," she blurted out.

John's eyebrows rose at that. That certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting to hear.

Now that Anna had started, it didn't seem like she could stop. "It was my fault. I was the one who started it."

"Anna, it takes two –"

She stopped him with a look. "I've made peace with myself now, John. But I won't pretend that I don't sometimes feel guilty about the whole thing, and I won't lessen my part in what happened. You see, Tom had a girlfriend at the time. Her name was Fiona. She was a lovely girl. She'd followed him from Ireland to pursue his dream. That night she hadn't been feeling very well so she ducked out of the party early, but Tom stayed behind to carry on celebrating with me. I was drunk. I hadn't had that much to drink in a long time, but I was happy and alive with what we had achieved. And I kissed him in the lift back at the hotel. I don't know what was wrong with me, but I couldn't stop myself. And when he kissed me back, it was as if something snapped inside me. Before I knew it we were in my room."

"You said you didn't sleep with him," John reminded her softly.

"No, I didn't. But we came close. We were in the bed and kissing, but…" She trailed off, her cheeks red with embarrassment and dredged up shame. "When he found some protection it's like I came back to myself. I was naked in this rented bed, and he was holding out a condom for me to help put on and I froze."

"What happened?"

"I said no. Tom was a complete gentleman about it all, thank God."

John shuddered in horror at her implication. That Anna might have been powerless to stop him if he'd ignored her wishes was simply unthinkable.

"Thank God," he echoed fiercely.

"Anyway, he got dressed and went back to his room, but the next morning it was there in print for everyone to see. There was no picture, but some reporter must have spotted him sneaking away and decided to take their chance. Everyone wanted to know if it was the truth. We both denied everything of course, but I felt disgusting." Anna pinched her nose in agitation. "She'd been there in their shared room probably wanting nothing more than to feel his arms around her, and instead he was almost having sex with me. God, I couldn't look her in the eye again. To this day I have never felt as ashamed of myself as I did then."

"Tom could have said no," John objected. "It wasn't all down to you. Tom made the choice to kiss you back instead of pushing you away. Tom made the choice to take you to bed. It wasn't all on you. Just like Vera chose to be unfaithful to me."

"It ruined our friendship for a while," said Anna. "We could hardly stand to be in the same room. Our dances were off. I was considering ducking out entirely."

"So what happened?"

"I'm not sure. Tom and Fiona broke up, and bit by bit things started to improve. I don't know if he ever told her about what happened – I suspect he didn't – but I knew in my heart that I could never feel that way about him, and I would never make that mistake again. The press still like to speculate, but they don't know the full truth. No one does. Apart from you."

"I'm honoured that you trust me with it," he said. "But I still don't really see what you're getting at."

"My point is this: you're right. Those stories about you will always be out there. They will never be forgotten. But you can choose to rise above it and move on. Those memories will always be painful, but they don't have to govern your life, and you can't punish yourself forever over something that can't be changed. If you have a chance of happiness, you should grasp it with both hands."

"And do you think I have a chance of happiness?"

Anna looked at him steadily. "That's for you to decide, Mr. Bates."

"Christ," he muttered, suddenly ashamed. "I never thought I'd find myself purging myself naked in another woman's bed. Hardly the most romantic pillow talk, is it?"

Anna wrapped her slim arms around his middle once more, settling her chin into the curve of his shoulder and kissing the skin of his neck. "I'm glad that you feel like you can talk to me about this. I _want _to be here for you."

"I still can't believe that I'm any good for you," he admitted. "You can do so much better than me."

"You think that because you're not seeing what I see. I see a good man. And good men don't come along very often." She sighed. "Like I said, I can't make your decisions for you. But for future reference, regret isn't the sexiest thing to bring between the sheets. I like that you trusted me to open up about the things in your past, but the minute you start regretting what happened between us…"

"I told you, I don't regret what's happened between us."

"But you still feel guilty about it all the same."

"Only because it didn't happen under the circumstances I imagined. If this was going to happen, I wanted it to be special."

"It's you," she replied simply.

At her words, he felt the lump rise in his throat. Christ, he couldn't cry. Swallowing hard he reached up and covered her hands with one of his. She let out a shuddering breath and kissed his ear.

"I think we've done enough talking for one evening," she whispered. "Let's go to sleep. You've got to be up early and there's a final to prepare for."

John, nodded, grateful that they could let the subject lie for now. Anna pulled away from him, the sheets rustling as she found a comfortable position on her side. When she was settled, she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Hold me," she requested quietly.

Heart in his dry mouth, John carefully lowered himself to the mattress beside her, shuffling until he was right behind her. The press of her soft, naked back against his chest was electric, and his breath left him in a desirous rattle. He moulded the contours of his body around hers, their legs tangling, his right arm draped over her hips. Anna was not passive, pressing herself into the shelter of his body and finding his hand, entwining their fingers together. Neither one of them spoke.

Even like this, John found that he couldn't sleep. The silk of her naked skin was a balm, and the cadence of her breathing was like a melody. He breathed in the scent of her skin, musky sweat and sex, and buried his nose in the curve of her shoulder, closing his eyes and concentrating on the warm weight of her. He just hoped that in the morning everything would still be as comforting as this darkness.


	3. The Princess and the Pauper

**A/N:** It wasn't until January that I realised that it had been over a year since I'd last updated this fic. So I thought, what better occasion to try and update it for than the person it was written for in the first place's birthday? :) So, Happy Birthday, **theglamourfades**! I hope you enjoy this chapter and have had a lovely day.

Also, a long while back, she reblogged the following prompt: _Imagine your Smol and Tol otp where Tol is doing push-ups and Smol is lying under them so they are more motivated to stay up on their arms and keep going and sometimes when they push down they get a peck on the lips (and then Tol gets tired and collapses heavily on top of Smol, smushing them while they flail)_, and expressed a wish in the tags to see it in a fanfic one day. I thought that I could incorporate it into this fic, so I did!

Describing the dancing is something that I find very difficult, but theglamourfades also helped me there with a super helpful Youtube playlist of her favourite Strictly Come Dancing performances. Thank you so much for that!

I do apologise that it's yet another long chapter. It's just over 22,000 words, so pace yourself accordingly.

* * *

_3\. The Princess and the Pauper_

Throughout his life, John had always found it difficult to sleep through the night. On foreign mattresses, a constant thing with him touring the country to commentate on football games, it meant that most days he only had a snatched couple of hours before he was awake again. Even at home, in the bed that hadn't changed since he was a boy, he found it difficult to settle and sleep. It was better than when he was on the road, but his mind seemed to be constantly buzzing, and it was a very, very rare feat indeed if he managed to sleep all the way through.

So it was no surprise to him at all that even when he had Anna slumbering at his side, he still woke to the darkness. She was snug to his chest, her silken skin like a balm against him. Her satin hair against his cheek was like heaven. He turned to breathe in the musky scent of her for just a moment, feathering a kiss to her shoulder, knowing that it was safe. Her breathing was deep and even, and she sounded as if she was in a very restful sleep. With a sigh, John disentangled himself enough to find the clock she had on her bedside cabinet. Squinting to make out the time, he allowed the breath to whoosh out of him as he deciphered it.

Five.

If he wanted to make it back to his mother's house early enough then he would have to get going very soon. Already the tubes would be filling up with early morning commuters, and central London would begin to congest with traffic.

There was nothing in the world that he wanted to do more than remain lying there with Anna in his arms, but he rarely got what he wanted. Pressing one last kiss to her shoulder, he began to pull away completely. When he had his feet planted on the floor he ran his hand through his hair, searching the darkness for wherever his clothes had landed. Thank God for the bit of artificial lighting coming in through the window from where they had forgotten to draw the curtains. He bent down and rummaged through the haphazard pile on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

Anna's voice, sleep-slurred, made him jump. The dipping of the mattress must have woken her. She rolled over onto her side to face him, drowsy blue eyes fixed on him.

"I hope you weren't leaving without saying goodbye to me."

"I didn't want to wake you."

"Not the way to go, Mr. Bates. Reeks of regret."

"I told you, I don't regret it. You just looked so peaceful that I couldn't disturb you, and I have to get going now if I want to get back to my mother's."

"'S'time?"

"Just after five."

"Come back to bed, John."

"I can't. Mother will want to see me. I'll ring for a taxi to take me back to mine."

"I can drive," she reminded him. "I'll take you there myself. But later. I'll go straight to the studio afterwards to set up for the day. Now will you _please _come back to bed? We can afford another couple of hours."

He dithered for a moment, but in the end her sleepy blue eyes won him over. That, and the prospect of sliding back into that warm nest and snuggling back against her. This darkness was comforting. It gave the illusion that this moment could last forever, that things could always be like this.

But things would change and warp in the cold light of day. They would have to face what they'd done, and try to move forward from it. He hoped that they could find a way to spend some time together out of this competition. It would be difficult, with their schedules constantly filled and clashing, but he didn't want this night to fade into another notch on the bedpost for either of them. Despite his brooding he really did not have any regrets, and he trusted that Anna was being truthful when she'd said that she had none either. They would have to talk at some point, and talk seriously.

But not now. Not now, when she was holding out her hand for him to take.

Not now, when she pressed her mouth to his as soon as he fell back into bed with her, not as sleepy as he'd first thought.

Not when she hitched herself over him once more, reaching for the glinting gold packet on the edge of her bedside table, healing him with her body all over again.

* * *

For the second time in the space of a few hours, John found himself with Anna's weight pressed deliciously into him, her hot gasps for breath ruffling his ear and making the hairs on his body rise, pleasant aftershocks rifling through him. Blindly, she tugged on his hair, guiding his mouth back to hers. Her kiss was sloppy and clumsy, but he revelled in it anyway, smoothing his hands over the curve of her buttocks and making her bite involuntarily at his lip. It stung, in the most wonderful way possible.

When she'd done she eased back, letting him slip from under her so he could go and clean up a bit once more. He returned to the bedroom and he found Anna had pulled the duvet up over her, her head buried in the pillow that he had slept on. He limped across the room and touched her ankle. She stirred.

"I think I should start getting ready to go now," he whispered. Even in the dark, he could see her rolling her eyes.

"I meant it when I said I'd take you," she said. "We're all right for just a little longer. Come back, just for ten minutes."

John knew that, realistically, it wasn't the best idea. Traffic in London was murder at the best of times, but the closer it got to rush hour, the riskier it was. But his heart, so overcome by everything that Anna was, was more than powerful enough to win out. The minute that they left the sanctuary of the bedroom, real life would filter back in through the cracks. The bubble would pop. If he could stave off reality for ten more minutes, then shouldn't he do it?

The decision was made for him when Anna rolled over, the sheets slipping down until her breasts were uncovered. She patted the space beside her enticingly, and he simply couldn't resist the call. The sheets were still warm, and he snuggled up against her, draping his arm across her stomach and finding her hand on the mattress. She linked their fingers together, and he pressed his nose to her cheek, breathing in the scent of himself on her skin.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

He nodded, unable to find the words, pressing soft kisses to her cheek. She wriggled a little, but he could tell that she was pleased by his affection. Her warm, soft skin was wonderful against him. Against his better judgement, he felt his eyelids beginning to droop. Her hand had moved to his hair, stroking through it over and over in a strangely relaxing motion.

He drifted to the soothing cadence of her fingers.

* * *

He was woken by the sound of a scream, followed by a thunk and a round of swearing. Disorientated, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Anna.

But no…Anna was stirring beside him too, bleary eyes blinking open, clouded with sleepy confusion, pushing her tangled hair away from her face as she propped herself up on an elbow.

She swore loudly, yanking at the quilt.

Because Mary Crawley stood in the doorway, pure shock and horror written across her entire face, a polystyrene cup of coffee from one of the endless Costas all over the floor.

"W-What on earth…?" she said, her usual commanding demeanour completely gone. John hadn't known that eyes could go as wide as hers were.

"Get out, Mary!" Anna squeaked furiously, still holding the sheets tight to her chest. John wasn't sure how much the brunette had seen, but it did not take a genius to work out exactly what they had been doing. Which was exactly what he did not want – the worst thing that could possibly happen right now was the news of their night together circulating. He was not ready to deal with the questions and the sniggering and the staring, not today of all days. He had enough on his plate as it was, with the looming final and his horrendous actions of the previous evening.

Mary seemed to regain control of her limbs, scrambling out of the door as if the devil was on her tail. The door slammed closed behind her, leaving John and Anna frozen in horror. Anna was the first to break out of her stupor, scrabbling out of bed to search for a nightdress in one of the chest of drawers. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but admire her perfect form from behind. She'd been beautiful in the darkness. In the grey morning light, she was enough to take his breath away. Stunning. Utterly stunning.

He didn't manage to tear his gaze away until the nightgown had fallen over the firm, glorious cheeks of her arse, and even then he had to physically shake away the thought that she was wearing nothing underneath. He was helped on his way out of bed by the glare that Anna shot his way. He promptly reached for his boxers.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" she hissed, tugging on her dressing gown. "I should have listened to you, let you go when you wanted to."

John couldn't help but feel the piercing pain at her words, as if a knife had been driven right into his chest. _Was _she regretting what they had done, despite what she had said? Mary knowing was not ideal in the slightest, but Anna sounded angry about it. The thought was frightening.

"Take a shower," she was saying. "Give me time to talk to her. I can take you after that. We're not late at least, thank God. It's only just gone seven."

He could only nod, limping out of the room like a condemned man. He was familiar with the path to the bathroom now, tugging on the light switch and setting the shower going. He tossed his boxers to one side, then paused. He could hear voices in the hallway, slightly muffled. He hadn't shut the door entirely. He glanced back at the shower anxiously. Eavesdropping was wrong, deplorable. He had never considered himself the kind of person to lower himself to those standards. Even when Vera had been conducting her assignations, he had never listened in on any of her conversations, even when it had been clear that she had wanted him to. He hadn't cared enough.

But, God, he cared enough now.

Leaning in as close as he dared to the crack in the door, he held his breath and tried to listen beyond the susurrant shower.

"Mary, what the hell are you doing here?" he heard Anna hiss, out of sight.

"What does it look like? I was coming to check on you, see how you were after last night! I'd even brought coffee for you."

"Yes, but coming here unannounced…!"

"I have a swipe card," Mary reminded her. "I'm always using it. And how the hell was I to know that John was staying over!? You have a lot of explaining to do!"

"I didn't plan it," said Anna.

"Well, obviously," said Mary dryly. "Otherwise you would have made sure that no one could interrupt. Although don't think I didn't notice that there was more than one johnny wrapper on the floor."

"Don't be so crude," Anna scolded. "People call you 'Lady Mary' for a reason, and that's not it!"

"You can't play coy with me now. I take it you don't regret it, otherwise you wouldn't have gone another round."

John leaned his head as close to the gap as he dared, his heart beginning to speed up in his chest. His palms were suddenly very sweaty. He felt as if his life was balancing on a knife's edge. Her answer could send him tumbling back to the roiling depths below. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. There had never been a more important moment in his entire life, not even when he had got his first senior cap at seventeen. Everything paled in comparison to this.

Anna's voice was so low when she answered that he had to strain his ears just to hear her.

"No," she whispered. "No, I don't regret it."

And, just like that, his heart soared, the fear melting away like snow in sunshine. Everything was far from settled, of course. There was still so much to discuss and work out. But it gave him something that he hadn't had in years. Hope. He'd found it difficult to trust people for years. Even Robert, who had known him for so long, had been held at arm's length for a while. Anna had been a gift that he had never expected, and as terrifying as that had been for the longest time, she had slipped through his iron exterior with shocking ease to take possession of his heart. If she had told Mary that she regretted it, he didn't think he would ever have recovered.

"So what's wrong? And don't pretend that there's nothing. I know you. You can't hide anything from me."

John leaned closer to the door. He heard Anna sigh.

"There's nothing wrong in what we did. But John…he says he doesn't regret it, and I believe him. But I think right now he needs to be handled with care. I can understand it, with the rubbish that he's been put through. I'm just not sure how he'd react to the whole world knowing that we slept together last night. I don't want it to frighten him. He doesn't like being in the limelight, and if the paparazzi got wind of this…" Her voice trailed off.

"I understand," said Mary. "I just hope that he's worth it. You deserve it."

"Oh, he's worth it," said Anna. "He's more than worth it."

There was little reason to eavesdrop any longer. He had heard enough to salve his old, battle worn heart. Stepping back, he finally moved towards the shower and dunked his head under it, washing away the grime of the last twenty-four hours and the scent of Anna's skin. He was loath to remove that reminder of their night together, but he couldn't dwell on it for now. They had a competition to win, and that meant stalwart professionalism.

Still, John couldn't keep the tentative smile away from his face, even with the throbbing of his knee. Because last night had been the biggest unexpected victory of all. Now all he needed to do was prove to her that he could take whatever the rest of the world wanted to throw at them, that she didn't need to shield him and protect him. As long as they were together, he could handle anything. Anything at all.

* * *

He emerged from the shower expecting to have to face Mary Crawley, but to his immense relief, the flat was empty. After throwing on the clothes from last night, he found Anna in the kitchen, brewing coffee.

"Hey," he said.

She glanced up at the sound of his voice. "Hey."

"Mary not here?"

"No, I sent her away. We'll be seeing enough of her later as it is."

"Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," she said. "I'm just sorry that you had to see any of that. It's no one's business but our own that we decided to spend the night together."

"Will she tell?"

"No, she's not like that. She's my best friend. I trust her more than anything."

John dithered for a moment. He wanted to tell her that he didn't care that Mary knew, that their talk last night had illuminated the way for him. But it didn't feel the right time. Not now, not when they had other things to focus on. So he just nodded, moving to grasp the mug of coffee that she was offering to him. Their fingers brushed, and Anna did not make to pull away. He felt the heat spark between them.

"Help yourself to something to eat," she said. "I won't be too long. I have cereal in the cupboard, or you can make yourself a slice of toast. Pour yourself a coffee, unless you'd rather have tea or juice."

He nodded numbly and watched her walk away. The bathroom door closed down the hall, and he heard the shower switch on. Only then did he move, pacing restlessly between the kitchen table and the counters. He wasn't hungry in the slightest, too wired by the events of the last twelve hours. There were many things going round in his head. But knowing that Anna would only have something to say about it if he didn't get something to eat, he rummaged in her cupboards for a box of cereal and a bowl. It felt rather intrusive, to be rifling through her things like that. At the same time, there was a part of him that longed for the day when it could become an everyday norm. He took them over to the table and settled himself down. From the open plan of the flat, he could see right down the hall to where the bathroom and bedroom stood. He heard the shower switch off. Five minutes later, the door opened. Anna came out, clutching a towel around her body. His throat tightened. The back of his neck prickled. He knew what was beneath that towel. He was like a boy freshly caught in the web of desire, wanting to experience the same hedonistic pleasures over and over again. But he couldn't. Not now. Probably not again for a while. He didn't want Anna to start to believe that sex was the only thing he was interested in, when he wanted nothing more than to spend as much time as possible learning everything there was to know about her. Last night, he had learned more intimate details of her life than he had done in the months that he had been closest with her. He could only imagine what other nights would be like if they spent more and more time together in a social environment.

He stood and walked to the sink, busying himself with filling the bowl to distract himself from those thoughts. He would not leave her flat a mess. By the time he'd finished washing his dishes through, Anna entered the kitchen behind him, carrying her shoes in one hand and her handbag in the other.

"You ready to go?" she asked.

"Let me just nip to the loo," he said, then added bashfully, "Do you have a spare toothbrush that I might be able to use?"

"There's a new one in the cupboard," she said. "Help yourself to that."

"Thanks."

In the bathroom, he splashed cold water onto his face and scrubbed at his teeth. His hair was messy, and his clothes from last night were wrinkled after spending all night in a heap on Anna's bedroom floor, but there was nothing he could do about that. He looked tired too, his eyes fatigued, his complexion pale. There would be no time for a nap before the vigorous day started. Hopefully make up would be able to work wonders even with his face.

Yes, he had a long, strange day ahead of him, he thought. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he told himself that he would have to take it one step at a time. One baby step at a time.

* * *

They pulled up on his mother's street an hour and a half later. The traffic into London had been bad, as he'd known it would be at rush hour, but he couldn't begrudge it. The extra time with Anna, ultimately, had been completely worth it.

Anna stopped the car on the opposite side of the street, killing the ignition.

"Here we are," she said. "Safely home."

"I'm not sure how safe it's going to be when I get inside," said John, unbuckling his seat belt. "I'm sure Mother is going to lay into me for my behaviour last night, not to mention the fact that I was AWOL. It could be a very unpleasant time. I think it might be the quickest change in the history of changing clothes. I'll probably beat you the studio."

She snorted. "Silly beggar."

"I mean it. I'll be warmed up and ready to go." He opened the car door, then hissed as a bolt of pain shot through his right leg. It had happened on the way down to the car, too, and he was embarrassed that he should be showing his discomfort so easily. Anna's expression instantly transformed into one of worry.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Never better."

"You're a terrible liar, John. I'd hoped that things might have improved with some rest…" Her voice trailed off.

"If you remember correctly, I didn't do much resting yesterday," he said dryly.

She flushed scarlet, but didn't pursue that line of conversation. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. "Well, Richard Clarkson will give you the onceover. He'll be able to give us a better idea. I won't risk your health."

Richard Clarkson was the show's physio. A trained doctor to the stars, he had been employed for the show's last two series to ensure that everyone was in the right condition to take part. He took his job seriously. Last time, he had pulled one of the top competitors out for fear that lifting his partner would make his back give way completely. With his knee as it was now, how would he pass the examination?

"But you've worked so hard," he protested. "_We've _worked so hard. I can do this, Anna. I know I can." It would be the cruellest of all ends, to get within touching distance of the title and be derailed by his own stupid body. It wasn't that he even cared about winning. He didn't, or at least he didn't care for himself. But there was more honour in losing to a better dancer, not pulling out with a whimper.

"Well, we'll see," she said. "Believe me, I want us to get to the finish line. But I won't risk your health for anything. Now go on, go and put your mother's mind at ease. I'll see you later, and we can talk about it then."

"Twelve o'clock," he confirmed. "See you soon." He hesitated for a moment, then leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. He wanted to kiss her mouth more than anything, but he was afraid. Afraid of coming on too strong. Afraid of making her shy away. He didn't want her to start believing that he'd got what he wanted from her and wasn't interested in anything further. At the same time, he was afraid that he wasn't being assertive _enough_. God, relationships were so difficult to navigate. No bloody wonder he'd avoided women like the plague since his divorce.

Still, his action had brought a small smile to her face, and he supposed he could take a little comfort from that. He watched her pull away from the curb, then turned in the direction of his mother's home. He'd been expecting an army of paparazzi camping on his doorstep, but it appeared that now the story had hit the newspapers, the urgency for a picture had decreased at least a little. It would be a thousand times worse at the studios. He would have to steel himself for that. Paparazzi flashing their cameras in his face, journalists screaming for a comment. And no doubt Thomas would be lapping it all up, laying it on thick, trying to paint himself as the innocent, injured party.

But he had made that fatal error. Now he would have to face the consequences. He just hoped that Anna wasn't tarnished too much in the process.

The moment he let himself in the front door, his mother was upon him.

"John Bates!" she bellowed.

He winced. Bloody hell, he was in for it. And when his mother got started, she was like a fierce Irish whirlwind. By the time this was over, he'd probably feel five years old again, being told off for breaking the plant pots on Mrs. Bailey's back garden with his football.

"Hello, Mother," he said.

"Don't you 'hello Mother' me, my boy. Don't you dare 'hello Mother' me!"

She bustled in from the kitchen, seeming to swell in size like a little bullfrog as she glowered at him. She'd been having trouble with arthritis in her hip for the last couple of years, but it didn't seem to be posing a problem today as she moved forward and delivered a sharp clip around the ear.

"Ow!" he said, rubbing the stinging spot. "What was that for?"

"As if you even need to ask! Brawling in public like a silly immature boy! You absolute fool! Are you deliberately trying to self-destruct!?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Well, you could have fooled me. This is exactly how you were actin' after all that dreadful business, drinkin' every night and gettin' yourself in all sorts of scrapes. You'll end up in prison again."

"I didn't go to prison," he said.

"Well, you were arrested and ended up in court. Drunk and disorderly, threatening behaviour. Is that what you want?"

"I wasn't drunk last night," he argued. "You know I haven't touched a drop in years."

"Even so, you can't allow that hot Irish temper of yours to govern you. That's never helped you in the past. And as much as that Thomas fellow seemed like an arrogant so-and-so, there was absolutely no need for you to stoop to his level!"

"There was every need," he said.

In the split-second that followed, he realised that he'd fallen right into her trap, like an unsuspecting fly into the spider's web.

"Aha!" she said triumphantly. "So it has something to do with something else, does it? Or, more specifically, _someone _else? A certain Miss Smith, possibly?"

"What makes you say that?" he said tiredly.

"The papers, for one thing. They're going mad. And I know you, Johnny. You're my son. You might like to think I don't, but I know you better than anyone. I made you and I raised you. You may have shaken the drink, but it's your honour nowadays that leads you to takin' stupid decisions."

His lips quirked feebly, even as his heart plummeted down to his feet at the confirmation that the press had started a rumour mill.

"So, come on then, what did the boy say? Because I'm quite sure the reportings in the paper aren't going to be accurate. I trust you as my son not to lie to me."

"I want to see the paper."

"You can, after you've answered your old mother's question. Now out with it."

His mother had always succeeded in making him quail with that iron Irish gaze. He dropped his, talking to her slippers. "He…suggested…_things _about me and Anna. That we might have been…engaging in intimate activities, so to speak. He went on to imply that she might have rigged the whole competition by selling herself to the producers."

"And that's what made you snap," she concluded. "Well, I agree that those comments are horrendous, but I'm sure Miss Smith is more than capable of taking care of herself. And we all know that it's just sour grapes because he thought he was going to win and got knocked out of the competition. No one would have taken the blindest bit of notice to that. You silly boy." She fixed him with a penetrating look. "Unless there's more to it than you're letting on. Another reason you snapped when her good name was called into question…"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said stoically, even as he felt the heat rising in his face.

"So you stayed over at her house last night and didn't stay in her bed?"

"She has a flat, actually, and no, I didn't. I was in the spare bedroom."

"If only I could believe you."

"I'm not a monster, Mother. I am perfectly capable of being a gentleman."

"And a man can just as easily be led by what's between his legs if a pretty woman shows an interest. And she's definitely interested, son. I may not have the sight I once did, but I know that. You were all alone in her flat, and I presume she helped you to clean up. So are you telling me that that didn't lead to anything more? Lying is a sin, Johnny, remember that. The Lord does not look down on it kindly."

The wily old thing, she'd always been able to read through situations, read through _him_, like a book. And how _could _he lie to her now? He was not a religious man, but it meant a great deal to her. He felt derision for it, but he could treat it with respect for the woman who had raised him.

"If you really must know, we kissed. Happy now?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "A kiss, eh? Well, I presume she was the instigator. You never would have made a move on your own. Good lass, she is. I hope you took precautions. I won't have a son of mine leaving a woman to deal with the consequences of those actions."

"Of course I did –" he started heatedly, then froze. Oh, bloody hell.

His mother's face was a mask of sheer triumph. "I knew it. I knew there was somethin' between the two of you. I have to say, it's not the way I would have preferred it. But who am I to judge when tensions run high? I hope you treated her well."

"You are not helping," John groaned. Horror crept through his veins. Good God, this was not the kind of conversation he wanted with his seventy-eight year old mother. Robert's would never dream of being so vulgar. He'd do anything to trade right now.

"What? I like to think I raised a gentleman, and Anna is the loveliest girl I've ever met. She deserves the best. If she's decided for herself that the best is you, then who am I to stop her?"

"Well, you wouldn't," he said dryly. "You've been trying to get me to date someone from the moment I separated from Vera."

"I didn't want you to spend the rest of your life alone. That harpy didn't deserve to win. Seeing you unhappy would have given her the victory. Well, she's not going to be a winner now, is she?"

"It's early days," he said firmly. "And I'm not discussing it any more. Now, give me that newspaper. I need to get changed and then I have to head to the studio. I'm meeting Anna there."

"The paper's in the kitchen," she said. "Let me know when you're leaving."

He nodded absently, already moving past her to retrieve it. His hands shook as he picked it up, and he kept his eyes determinedly away from it as he took the stairs two at a time up to his room. Only when the door was closed firmly behind him did he dare to look down.

The headline blazed from the page: _A ZERO FOR THE FISTWORK_.

John swore. The front bloody cover. As if there weren't more pressing things going off in the world than a stupid after-party that had got out of hand. Bloody tabloids.

Below the stark words was a picture of him and Thomas, him looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Thomas with his hand cupping his nose. Sick to the stomach, he started to read.

_Celebrations at the first of __**Dance With Me's **__after-parties ended on a sour note as a fight broke out between two of its best loved contestants._

_John Bates, former Celtic star, and Thomas Barrow, Britain's poster tennis sweetheart, were locked in a violent altercation at what should have been a night of celebration for everyone involved in the show._

_But witnesses say that they saw Bates, 42, launch himself at the unsuspecting Barrow as he retrieved a drink from the bar._

"_He was like an animal," said one. "I felt as if I'd been transported into the movie Fight Club. Absolutely disgusting behaviour."_

_This is not the first time that Bates' temper has led to disturbing incidents. He was charged and fined for threatening behaviour in 2002…_

John swore, scrunching the paper in his fists. Of course the media was making him out to be some kind of rabid monster, violent and dangerous. Parasites, the lot of them. And that witness…it had to be one of Thomas' cronies. That awful Sarah O'Brien who helped out behind the camera, perhaps. They'd seemed too friendly for anyone's good. Skimming the rest of the segment condemning his bad behaviour of the past, he read the sentence that made his heart sink.

_Sources claim that the confrontation occurred because of rumours surrounding Bates and his onscreen dancing partner, Anna Smith, 26._

There was a tiny picture of them inset, from the previous evening when she had kissed his cheek with her arms wound tight around his neck after their first dance.

_Bates and Smith clearly have a sizzling partnership, and it is the chemistry between the two of them which is partly responsible for endearing them to the voters. But is there more to their relationship than what is being shown on our TVs every Saturday night?_

_Continued page 5._

"Shit," John muttered sullenly, folding himself onto his bed. He almost didn't dare turn to page five, but he had to know. Scanning the words, he swore again. It was as he'd feared. Some 'source' had leaked that there was some kind of strange air between them, something secretive and intimate. Another 'source' claimed to have caught them kissing in one of the dressing rooms. How did the media get away with publishing such lies, masquerading it under a source, as if it made it irrefutable fact? That meant that he and Anna would be under intense scrutiny tonight. Any slight touch would be seen as a lovers' caress, a simple look would mean undying adoration. Which wasn't necessarily _untrue_, but it added pressure. He wanted to get to know Anna away from the cameras, without being chased down the street by some idiot thrusting a camera in his face. It was the sacrifice of being semi-notorious, but for someone who had never been fame hungry in the first place, it stung.

Seeing the paper had soured his mood further, and he changed mechanically, his mind whirring. Had Anna seen the paper by now? What would she say to it all? What should _he _say? The paparazzi would be at the studio, there was no question about it. Should he try to defend his actions? Or should he just keep silent? They were sure to twist whatever he said, anyway.

The day had already started off as a funny one. He just hoped that it didn't go from bad to worse.

* * *

He'd been dreading the moment when he would have to walk through the studio doors, but it couldn't be put off any longer. Anxiety twisted his insides, and he pulled the car round to the car park.

The instant they saw him turning in, the press pounced. Lightbulbs from those infernal cameras flashed in his face, and they swarmed all over the car, practically climbing up on the bonnet in an attempt to get closer. He kept his windows firmly up and double checked yet again that the doors were locked as men and women alike pounded on the windows and screeched at him to provide a statement of his own. John gritted his teeth, wondering if it would be worth a manslaughter charge if he pressed his foot on the accelerator to clear the way.

It took an agonisingly long time to reach the car park and pull into a space. And now there was the question of somehow getting through this mass.

Thankfully, he was saved by the arrival of security, who forcibly removed the vultures. Without wasting another second, John leapt from his car and limped as fast as he could towards the studio's entrance. Anna would be inside. His world would be put to rights again then.

But even inside he could not escape the scrutiny. It faced him from every corner, the curiosity and speculation in the eyes of everyone he came across. His scalp prickled uncomfortably. Hell, he'd probably have to go into hiding for a month after this was all over. Anything to escape for a while.

As long as Anna consented to coming with him.

"Bates!"

At the sound of the harsh snap, he turned. Oh, hell.

Walking towards him was Richard Carlisle, head of the studios that made the show for television. His face was thunderstruck.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he snarled without preamble. "I've been trying to get hold of you!"

"Did you try my mobile?" John snapped back.

"Don't start with me. I couldn't get anyone to give me your number. Seems like you've got friends who are willing to close ranks around you, Bates. But it's not going to help you. I'm livid. Get to my office. Now."

He had little other choice than to follow the other man. Carlisle swept down the corridors, sending people scurrying in his wake, though they peered like mice out of their hiding places to have a look at John. He tried to ignore their burning stares.

They arrived at Carlisle's plush offices at last, and John pulled up short. He had not expected to see Thomas Barrow standing there too, looking sullen. Well, good. If he was going to get a bollocking for his behaviour last night – one that he could take on the chin because he _had _been a pillock rising to Thomas' bait like that – then it was only fair that Thomas be on the receiving end too.

Carlisle rounded his desk, planted himself down, and promptly lit himself a cigar, glaring all the while.

"Well?" he said harshly. "Which one of you is going to explain your ridiculous behaviour from yesterday?"

It was time that he jumped in first. If he did not, then Thomas would only take the opportunity to embellish his side of the story.

"I know my behaviour was not acceptable yesterday," he said stiffly, "but I was provoked."

Carlisle raised an eyebrow. "Provoked how?" he drawled, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"Thomas levelled disparaging comments at Anna that she did not deserve. It touched a nerve. I'm not sorry I hit him, but I _am_ sorry that I brought the show into it."

"You should be," Carlisle growled. "I've had to give a statement to the press. Scavenging whores, the lot of them. I told them that we do not condone your behaviour in any way, and that there will be a full investigation into the incident. I was in half a mind to pull you out of the show entirely."

John looked up sharply at that, his heart hammering. Having his own name dragged through the mud, he could handle that. He'd been on the end of it plenty of times in his days as an alcoholic. But he could not abide Anna being sullied in this any more than she had to be. Her name would be splashed all over the tabloids, of course, embroiled in this as if they had been having a dirty little affair, but she did not deserve to suffer on the show too, when she had worked so hard to make him a better dancer.

Noticing his look, Carlisle continued, "Mary Crawley talked me out of it. I think most highly of her. I did it as a favour."

Thomas looked as if he had been winded. John took grim satisfaction from that. He had probably been hoping that Mary would have stood loyally by him as Anna had by John himself.

"So I will let you go for now," Carlisle mused, apparently to himself. "I don't want to hear of any more of this nonsense tonight. Whatever was said needs to be left behind. I have no interest in petty bust ups. I suppose there is one consolation: I expect our ratings to go through the roof tonight. Though they would have been even higher if they thought there was a grudge match with a score to settle." He eyed them thoughtfully for a moment, as if wondering whether it would be worth setting up a bear-baiting ring for them to have a go at each other in, before shaking his head. "Anyway, get out of my office. We'll have a further discussion once tonight is over. Though I can promise you this: neither one of you will be getting the fee you signed up for."

Thomas looked angry and aghast, but John couldn't care less. If that was all the punishment he had to take, he would take it gladly. All that mattered to him was that Anna's reputation escaped this whole sorry episode unscathed. Without a backwards glance, he left the room, Thomas stalking on his heels.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Thomas darted in front of him, squaring up to him. He was an impressive height, if not as broad; the tennis kept him fit and lean. His lip curled in a sneer.

"You'll pay for this, Bates," he hissed.

"Will I?" John answered coolly, making to step around him. Thomas blocked his path again.

"Yes, you will, you bloody arrogant bastard," he said. "I needed that money."

"Got yourself into debt, have you? You'll find I have little sympathy."

"Look at you, standing there all high and mighty. We all know where you've been, Bates. The gutters. A complete drunken wreck while your wife put herself about for other men. Is that what made the marriage break down? Couldn't you keep it up for her? S'pose I'd better ask Anna if you've disappointed her in that department –"

Before he even knew what he was doing, John had Thomas pinned up against the wall.

"Now you listen, you filthy little rat," he growled. "One more word about Anna, and I will punch your shining teeth through the back of your skull."

To Thomas' credit, though it niggled John to see, he didn't look the slightest bit ruffled. He maintained eye contact and said calmly, "Is this supposed to frighten me, Bates? Because if it is, it isn't working."

John hated the smug look on his face. His blood boiled beneath his skin. One excuse. That was all he needed. He would like nothing more than to hit Thomas again. But there was a voice in the back of his head that told him that it would only spell more trouble, a voice that sounded very much like Anna's. It was a voice that he knew he should heed. With one last shove, he let the other man go. Thomas made a show of brushing himself down, that ugly smirk still plastered to his face. Dickhead. With a disdainful shake of his own head, John turned away, intending to join Anna and the others. As he moved, however, he heard Thomas speaking lowly behind him.

"Watch your back, Bates," he said. "This isn't over."

John wheeled back around, hackles raised again. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise," said Thomas. "You just wait. You're not as untouchable as you think you are. You'll get what's coming to you. It might not be today. It might be next week, or next month, or next year, but it's coming."

"Scary stuff, coming from you," he said sardonically. "You know what, Thomas? Do your worst. I don't care."

Without giving him the chance to say anything else, he turned away, limping down the corridor. He was still shaking, but he took a deep breath. He had to master himself. He couldn't let Anna see that he was riled.

At long last, he reached one of the dance halls, where they had all practiced their routines. He found Jimmy and Rose and Anna already there waiting, along with Doctor Richard Clarkson. The sight of Anna's face calmed him. Thomas was nothing, really, an annoyance, like a gnat that buzzed around his hear and begged to be swatted. Thinking on him anymore was a waste of his time. Anna was his priority now.

He tried to not to give Anna any more than a casual, friendly smile, though by the same token he was instantly afraid that everyone else in the room would be able to read the story of what he and Anna had shared last night in the lines of his face.

"Ah, there you are, John," said Clarkson. "We were wondering where you'd got to."

"Sorry, the traffic was murder," he muttered, limping across to take his place by Anna's side. Jimmy shot him a slightly apprehensive, slightly sneering look. Of course. Jimmy was a friend of sorts to Thomas. This could prove to be rather awkward. He tried not to pay it any mind, felt better when Anna discreetly touched her hand to his.

"I'd like to see John and Anna first," Clarkson said. If he felt the atmosphere in the room, he paid it no mind. "Jimmy and Rose, please proceed to one of the other dance rooms. Don't do any dancing until I have been in to assess you."

"Don't need assessing," said Jimmy, puffing out his chest. "Fit as a fiddle, me." Which was probably true. Jimmy's outfits had usually been on the more non-existent side. If there was a cause to go shirtless, he was there. It was of no interest to John, but he knew a good body when he saw one, and Jimmy was the poster boy for it. All lean muscled and hairless and six-packed. No wonder the women swooned. It was a far cry from his own. He wondered again just what Anna found attractive about him when she danced with sexier men every day.

Clarkson was not impressed. "No dancing until I've seen you. Right, off you go."

Jimmy shrugged, looking less than pleased. "C'mon, Rose." He grabbed her hand and led her out of the room.

Clarkson waited until the door had been closed behind them before gesturing to the far end of the room. "Right, go along to the medical centre and strip down."

Anna followed along behind him. She wouldn't be permitted inside, but the professional partners usually liked to be nearby in case there were any problems that they needed to be aware of. This time, Anna followed him right into the room. John stared at her.

"What?"

"I don't think Doctor Clarkson will appreciate you being in here. He'll throw you out. And wonder things."

She shrugged. "Let him. Besides, you can pull the screen over. I won't be able to see anything." She shot him a look that he felt right in the pit of the stomach. "More's the pity. Now go on, get to it."

She pulled the curtain across for him, and he rolled his eyes as he dropped his trousers. He knew that his knee was what the doctor was most interested in, even without him saying anything. He would have heard of the fight from yesterday. He heard the door open, then Clarkson's voice.

"Miss Smith, what are you doing in here?"

"I'm waiting, Doctor Clarkson," came her steady reply.

"You can wait outside."

"I'm all right here. Don't worry, I'm not about to pounce on him, no matter what you might have heard."

"I meant to imply no such thing!" Clarkson sputtered.

"I'm sure you didn't. And I'm sure you know that my concern stems only from needing to know how my dance partner is. I'm going to pop myself on this chair here and wait to hear the verdict." Anna's voice was so sweet that it was dangerous. There was simply no arguing with it. John couldn't help his smile despite himself. What a woman.

"Oh. Yes. Well," said Doctor Clarkson, clearly flustered. "Yes. Won't be long, then."

"Take all the time you need," she said. John heard the rustle of pages. She'd picked up one of the medical journals lying about the place. In the next moment Clarkson appeared behind the curtain, looking more than a little disgruntled. John had to work to keep his face neutral.

"Right," the doctor muttered. "Let's see the damage."

He poked and prodded for what felt like eternity, applying different pressures and asking him how it felt. Nine times out of ten it felt bloody awful, but John refused to say so, simply grunting in reply, as if it was nothing.

But whatever his downfalls, Clarkson was a medical professional. At last, with a heavy sigh, he sat back on his haunches. Anna was around the curtain in an instant.

"How is he?" she asked. "What's the damage?"

"Miss Smith!" said Clarkson. "Can you please remain behind the curtain!?"

"If you believe the newspapers, it's nothing that I haven't already seen before," she said breezily, not making to move. "Do you mind me being here, John?"

He shook his head numbly. How could he, after the previous night?

"There we are," she said triumphantly. "So, please, tell me what the damage is."

Clarkson clearly didn't like this brazen insubordination, but there was nothing he could do about it. Grudgingly, he said, "There is some muscle damage to his knee. Surface bruises on his face which will fade in a few days and will be covered up nicely by makeup. But I will be honest: I have my concerns about the knee, and how it will bear up tonight."

"It will," John said at once. "I can manage."

"Can you?" said Clarkson. "Because you have been limping distinctly."

"That's nothing new. I always limp. Have done since that blasted bullet."

"Never as pronounced as that before. You may be walking, but how will it bear up during the dances? The lifting? I'm afraid that it could be too big a risk. I don't want you permanently damaging the leg."

"It's permanently damaged anyway," John said stubbornly. "I'm not pulling out." Not for his own sake. For Anna's. Any pain would be worth it for the jubilation on her face.

But now Anna was frowning. "That's not something I want, either, John. Your health is far more important than some dance." She turned to Clarkson. "What should I do?"

Clarkson sighed. "Try him with some exercises first, see how he copes. Press ups, stretches, that kind of thing. If he seems to be coping, bring me back and I shall see for myself. If not…well, I'm afraid you know the decision that you'll have to take."

Anna nodded.

"Right, I must be along to see Jimmy and Rose. I'll check back in later. Be sensible." Clarkson gathered his things together, and in the next moment he'd slipped past Anna and was gone, leaving them alone. John pulled his shirt on in a huff.

"I don't need babying," he said. "I'm quite able to assess my own capabilities."

"No, you're not," said Anna. "A man's pride always shades his own assessments. Wanting to do something is quite different to being able to do it."

"I _can _do it."

"And _I'll _be the judge of it. Now, come on. You heard Doctor Clarkson. We have some work to do. I know just the thing."

John frowned. "What do you mean?"

Anna shot him a secret smile, slipping her hand into his. "Don't worry, you'll see soon enough."

* * *

As it turned out, she only took him to the hall that they used to practice their dances. John wasn't sure what he'd been expecting; he wasn't sure whether he should feel glad or disappointed that she hadn't had something else in mind. Sometimes, it was incredibly frustrating to have these feelings warring inside him, that overwhelming desire to be with her entangled with the little sly voice that told him that it was for the best, that he wasn't good enough for her.

Banishing those thoughts, for they were hardly productive at the current time, he asked, "What did you have in mind?"

Her grin was cheeky, even if her answer was demure. "Exactly what Doctor Clarkson recommended. We'll start with some press ups, I think. That will help to assess how much of your own weight you can stand. I think if you can stand your own, we'll be okay."

"You are much lighter," he agreed, though he couldn't help but flash back to the night before all the same, to the thick, heavy press of her naked body against him as she'd slumped against him completely spent, for brief moments uncaring of the way that her full, solid weight pressed him into the mattress before she came back to herself and shifted the pressure away. He cleared his throat. "All right, I can do that." God, he hoped he could, anyway.

"Good. Get changed, and we'll give this a try."

In this room, there were no curtains to separate them. Ordinarily, he would have stored his clothes in the locker room and put his clothes on there, but the locker room was at the other side of the building, and there was no one else around now. Suddenly feeling rather shy in this harsh daylight, he unbuttoned his shirt and replaced it with the simple white tee made specifically for these training sessions. Even though there was no one to stop them, Anna had turned her head respectfully to give him some privacy, though he could see her watching him out of the corner of her eye. There was a little half-smile on her face. He hoped that meant that she liked what she saw, that she was remembering what had transpired between them with the same fondness now that she could see his imperfections in the broad light of day. He grappled out of his jeans and replaced them with the trademark tracksuit bottoms.

"All done," he announced, and she turned back towards him, as if she hadn't secretly been watching his every move.

"Great," she said. "Now, come on, Mr. Bates, get on the floor. It's time you did some press ups."

John nodded, but not without some trepidation. God, he hoped he could do this. The last thing he wanted was to have to pull out after all.

Gritting his teeth, he assumed the starting position. His knee was already beginning to throb hotly, but he ignored it, sinking down into his first press up. He didn't dare take his eyes from the spot on the wooden floor that he had fixated on, acutely aware of Anna's analysing gaze running all over him. He knew she was serious when she said that she would pull him out if she didn't think he was up to it. Whatever else happened, she must not think that.

After a few, mercifully, she said, "Stop."

John eased himself to the floor, trying to regulate his breathing. He could feel beads of sweat on his temples. Bloody hell.

"How was that?" she asked.

"Okay," he lied. If he could get hold of some double strength painkillers, he'd probably have a chance.

"I've an idea," she said.

"Yeah? What's that?" he said, rolling onto his side so that he was facing her. She had a disconcerting gleam in her eyes.

"I was thinking that maybe you could use some motivation," she said.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She started to lower herself to the floor too, which only mystified him further. What on earth was she playing at?

There was a strange lilt in her voice when she spoke again. "Now, you come over here."

"Anna, can you please stop being so cryptic? I haven't a bloody clue what you're trying to do."

"Giving you motivation," she said matter-of-factly. "You do your press-ups over me."

He stared at her. Had she gone mad? That made no sense to him at all. "And why would I do that?"

She shrugged. "Well, don't, if you don't want to. But try it and see if it helps."

Dubiously, he crawled into position over her. He could feel the heat creeping into his cheeks as he looked down at her from above. If his blasted knee hadn't been in such poor condition last night, he would have been in this position then, holding her in his arms, making love to her like a whole man.

Oblivious to the workings of his mind, she gave him a grin, ghosting her hand against his forearm. "Go on, give it a try."

Unsure of what he was going to gain from this, John lowered himself again. This time, before he could push himself back up, Anna leaned forward and pressed a quick peck to his lips. Startled, John almost toppled to the side, and she giggled, catching him around the waist and holding him steady.

"That bad, is it?" she quipped.

"I – no, of course not," he stammered. "I just wasn't expecting it."

"Motivation," she intoned. "The longer you keep going, the more kisses you'll get. See if you really are fit enough to dance tonight."

That was the most absurd thing he had ever heard in his life. But, really, what did he have to lose? Anna was grinning at him so enticingly, and despite his earlier feelings, the idea of feeling Anna's lips beneath his once more…

"All right," he said, trying to sound casual. "Let's give it a try."

Adjusting his position, he set to work on pumping his body up and down. He wasn't sure how attractive the sight really was for Anna, all things considered, with his little huffs and his gritting teeth, but she was beaming at him and, true to her word, every time his face came close to hers, she jutted her chin and found his mouth in the sweetest, swiftest peck of a kiss that left him wanting more.

He had to hand it to her: she was right. Every brief taste was like getting a taste of the forbidden pleasures in the Garden of Eden, and he could not resist the temptation of coming back for more, greedy with the want of it. Anna murmured words of encouragement, occasionally touching his chest with the palm of her hand, counting them up for him as sweat collected at his temple and gathered on his upper lip.

"Fifty," she said at long last, when his face was right beside hers. "Perfect. You made it."

He quivered with the effort of holding himself there, and she wound her arms around his neck, so teasingly close to where he wanted her to be. "I think it's safe to say that you should be all right tonight. And I think a performance like that deserves a reward."

He was just about to ask her what she had in mind when her mouth caught his once more. This time, rather than pulling away, she deepened the kiss, tightening her hold on him. He made a sound in the back of his throat, unable to stop himself from lowering onto her, the effort to hold himself rigid above her far too much. He tried to keep as much weight as he could on his left side, not wanting to squash her beneath him, but she only pushed nearer, her knee touching his side sensually –

The door at the far end of the room squeaked open. Almost before he could blink, Anna had broken away and pushed at him. Unprepared for the sudden pressure, he toppled to the side with a grunt, the thud unflatteringly loud.

"There we are, John," Anna said loudly. "Let's see you do that stretch again." She herself had pushed herself into a graceful upright position, her back arching beautifully as she stretched her arms all the way down her short legs. He blinked at her stupidly, then moved his gaze to the intrusion.

Richard Clarkson. He looked at them doubtfully, as if he didn't quite believe the apparently innocent act he had walked in on. "How's everything going?"

"Great," Anna said enthusiastically. "He could do the press ups no problem. He's not doing so bad with the stretches, either. I'm really pleased with him."

Clarkson looked cynical. John tried to make it seem like he at least knew what he was supposed to be doing, stretching one more time in a decisive manner before sitting up.

"I think I would feel more comfortable watching him for myself instead of just relying on your testimonial, Anna, as truthful as I'm sure it is," the doctor said.

"Be my guest," Anna shrugged. "I just need to step outside for a moment. I won't be long."

She bounded to her feet with the grace of a cat, leaving John and Clarkson alone. Clarkson cleared his throat.

"Right," he said. "Let's see what you can do…"

It went on for a few minutes, Clarkson putting him through his paces. To his relief, he found that he was keeping up with the doctor's demands quite well, and by the sound of his reluctant sound of approval at the end, Clarkson could see no reason why he shouldn't continue for the live show tonight.

"Yes, I think everything is in good order," he said reluctantly. "You will need to be extra careful, and I strongly recommend that you don't do anything strenuous for at least a few days afterwards, but with the right application, I think you should be able to compete."

"That's fantastic news, Doctor," said John. "So Anna and I can begin our final rehearsals?"

"Yes."

"I knew he could do it," came Anna's cheerful voice; she'd slipped back in unseen. She was carrying a big bottle of water in each hand. "Thank you so much for your help, Doctor Clarkson. I think I can take care of him from here."

John gulped, his whole body suddenly feeling very warm. God help him. If he was going to react like this every time she spoke, it would be a very, very long day.

Not one part of him could really mind.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Anna and John practiced the two routines they knew about with grit and care. It _was _difficult on his knee, there was no denying it, but Anna, always so in tune with him, was careful not to overwork him.

When five o'clock rolled around, Anna brought them to a stop.

"You've done fantastic, John," she praised. "I think we're going to smash it tonight."

"As long as we don't end up smashing into the floor," he said sardonically.

"Your knee will hold," she said confidently. "I want you to strap it up with warm compresses while you're in the makeup chair. That should help to ease it for a while. And, well, if the worst happens, we've made it this far. It won't make me any less proud of you for what you have achieved."

John nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced. After all, the title was in touching distance now. She had never come this close in the last three years that she had taken part in the show. Yes, it was a silly, pointless trophy that she probably didn't put much stock in, but even so. He desperately wanted her approval, for her to be proud of him.

They'd come so far, worked so hard. Every knock had got them back up again. Every criticism had made them work harder. The audience clearly saw something in them to back. He could not fall, not at this final hurdle.

Perhaps…perhaps it wasn't so wild to think that they were in with a chance of winning this whole thing, after all. Perhaps they really could do it.

Anna squeezed his hand. "It's time we got down to make up and got into our first changes. I'll see you at a quarter to seven. Let's give it our all."

That was one sentiment he could get behind.

* * *

John leaned against the balcony as he watched Anna dancing below him with the other professionals. Jimmy was to his left, showing his first signs of nerves. Behind them, the other contestants who had failed to make it this far sat together, waiting with eager anticipation for the evening to unfold. It had been decided earlier by straws that Jimmy would dance first. John wasn't sure if that was better or worse. It would give him time to gather himself, for him and Anna to have one last pep talk before they took to the stage, but it also gave more time for the nerves to grow. Jimmy had always been a hard act to follow, and it would certainly be no different tonight. He didn't want to be a disappointment.

As she danced, he found that he simply could not take his eyes away from his partner. She was in the arms of fellow professional Jack Ross, who had partnered Ethel Parks until their elimination. They were dancing a lively samba, interchanging with the other couples with an enviable flow like silky water. He watched her flicks and her lines, the way she made her transitions look so seamless. She was grace personified.

The crowd cheered when the dance came to an end, everyone held their final poses. As the lights went back up, Gwen and Sybil took the floor, thanking the performers for a wonderful start to the show and then launching into their usual spiel, introducing the judging panel, the band, and reminding the audience what was in store for the rest of the evening, as if they could have forgotten.

"Jimmy and John will each be dancing three dances," said Sybil.

"First will be their own choices," said Gwen. "These are the dances that they each feel showcases their talents best."

"Then comes the Judge's Choice," added Sybil. "These dances are the ones which the judges feel that they did respectively worst at, and they are challenged to dance them again in order to show how they can take feedback on board and build on it to improve."

"And, lastly, it comes down to you, the viewers at home," Gwen finished. "Since last night, you have been voting for which dance you would like to see each couple perform. That vote will close when the couples have each danced their first two dances, and the results will be revealed then. Neither couple has had time to practice this dance beforehand. It all comes down to how well they can perform under pressure, and what story they can come up with to tell with no prior planning. From the time that the vote is announced, they will have ten minutes to come together and put a routine together before they're expected to perform."

They talked for a little longer, giving Anna and Rose time to change into their outfits for the first performance, playing the kind of inspirational video montages of him and Jimmy that made John want to be sick. Listening to himself spouting the usual clichéd stuff about this meaning the world, never expecting to get this far, the competition proving life-changing, made John wince. Bloody hell, how far he had fallen. A year ago, he'd have rolled his eyes at this.

"Hey, you," Anna whispered somewhere beside him, and he jumped, turning to find her ready for action, drop-dead gorgeous in her long, swishing dress.

How far he had fallen in more senses than one.

They were pressed in tight with the other contestants, close enough together that Anna felt brave enough to slip her hand into his. He squeezed her fingers tight, relishing their strength and steadfastness. When they caught sight of Charles Grigg, the stage manager, beckoning them furiously, he took a deep breath.

"Well," he said, "let's do it."

They followed Grigg around the back of the stage to the little alcove hidden from sight of the cameras, where they could watch Jimmy and Rose in action and be ready to take the spotlight a few seconds later. The sickness gnawing at the lining of his stomach only grew more persistent as he watched Jimmy move effortlessly across the floor. God, the man, as infuriating as he could be at times, could _dance_. Jimmy had excelled particularly well in the quickstep, and he was showing just why now with his perfect footwork and his infectious energy. No one could watch this performance and not be entertained.

It ended with thunderous applause and all of the judges on their feet.

"Damn, that _was _good," said Anna as she clapped along out of sight.

"A hard act to follow," John agreed gloomily.

"Hush, you. We'll follow it just fine. Our rumba was strong last time. I see no reason why we shouldn't have a repeat performance."

"I do. My leg."

"Stop being so pessimistic," she admonished as Jimmy and Rose exited the stage, Jimmy waving with the trademark cocky grin plastered across his face. Grigg appeared behind them again.

"One minute," he said. "You'd better get ready to make your entrance now."

Anna nodded. "All right." She turned to him, picking an invisible bit of lint from his shirt. "Come on, you."

There was a moment when he thought she might take his hand again – her own twitched – but in the end, she must have thought better of it in front of Grigg. Together, they made their way through the backstage area until they came to a stop just outside the place they would make their grand entrance from. At this very minute, the people behind the scenes were rushing about, silently and efficiently building up their set.

"The judges scores are in," came Gwen's disembodied voice from somewhere above them.

"This is it," said Anna, bouncing on the balls of her feet in a kind of nervous tic.

"Elsie Hughes!"

"Ten!" came the clear Scottish brogue.

"Charles Carson!"

"Ten!" agreed his deep baritone.

"Martha Levinson!"

"A ten, of course," came Martha's American drawl.

"Violet Crawley!"

"I can find no reason to disagree with the other judges. Ten," was the affirmation.

"And that gives a perfect forty out of forty for Jimmy and Rose!" crowed Gwen. "A picture perfect start to the show!"

She spent a few more seconds conversing with the clearly elated couple. John's shoulders slumped. Damn. He did not like being a sore loser, but a strong performance like that right at the beginning was unbeatable. Only matchable. And he had never scored a full forty before. He couldn't see himself doing it now.

Anna touched his elbow.

"Hey," she whispered. "Let's just focus on our game, all right? We don't care what Jimmy and Rose do. We only care about what we do. And as long as we do our best, the rest doesn't matter."

John nodded, clenching his jaw. He was quite certain that if he tried to speak, he would only lose the feeble sandwich he'd scarfed at tea time. Christ, why was he so _nervous_?

He had no time to ponder any longer. Grigg reappeared and hissed, "You're on in twenty seconds! Assume your starting positions!"

And here they were. Que sera sera, John thought dimly.

"Let's do this," Anna murmured. He followed her out onto the stage, taking his position at the other end of the stage. He could feel the eyes of the world on him, and swallowed down the urge to be sick again. Somewhere in that crowd sat his mother and Robert. He didn't dare try to seek them out.

After what felt like a lifetime, never mind twenty seconds, Sybil's voice boomed around the vicinity. "Dancing the rumba, their own choice, it's John and Anna!"

Cheers of encouragement rippled round the room. John didn't hear them. His focus was entirely on Anna.

The first beat of the music started, and she started to glide across the space towards him, her arms moving in a sensual flow, as if she was a faery enchanting the unsuspecting human on the other side of the room. He was no actor, but bloody _hell_, that wasn't a difficult one to enact. He felt like she _was _enchanting him every time she looked at him.

His own feet began to mirror hers, and he met her in the middle, his arms automatically reaching for her waist while she draped hers around his neck. For a brief moment, their faces almost touched, and then they sprang apart, moving seamlessly around one another. He reached for her hands and they came back together, then moved away, as if they were being repelled by a magnetic force. Still at a distance, John led her in a circle. She spun around under his arm, one hand going to his hip as he moved his hips in a circular motion.

Cheers and wolf whistles rang from the crowd as Anna ran her hand up his torso, her eyes searing into his. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to concentrate on his next steps as he turned them in a circle. Anna span fast once, twice, three times…and he caught her hard around the waist, dipping automatically as she did the splits. More cheers from the crowd.

He dragged his hand up her thigh as he used the strength in his own legs to pull her back to full height, perhaps taking it a beat slower than he ought to have just to savour the firmness of her beneath him. He ran his hands all over her as she gyrated against him, then hooked his arm under her thigh as he braced his weight to lift her. She stretched out her arms, perfectly poised, and he turned with her, using the strength in his arms to lift her right off the ground as he twirled. The audience oohed again. The arm that Anna had flung around his neck tightened, and her other hand came up to palm his cheek, drawing his face up so that they were forehead to forehead. Her eyes were closed, and he mirrored her, focusing purely on the sensations, of the stickiness of her skin against him.

After a few beats, he reluctantly let her go, and she slid back to the ground like water, dancing away from him. This time, he kept his distance. Together, they mirrored each other's movements, John concentrating hard on keeping his arms loose and his steps sure. They circled each other once as if sizing each other up, and then they came back together. Anna's hands returned to his face as he moved around her stationary form, kicking out his leg behind him. Pain flared through his knee, but he ignored it determinedly. Instead, he threw himself into his kicks, sashaying around her so he was behind her once more.

The notes of the song were coming to a close. John wrapped his arms around Anna's waist and she dropped back. He moved with her, keeping his arms taut to support her full weight. He bounced back up with her and pressed himself tight to her back, dipping his head over her shoulder as her hand came up to rest against the side of his face, her fingers warm and soothing against him. Her eyes shone into his, an expression that not even the cameras could pick up at this angle. They were shining with love.

They held this pose for a few moments as the crowd around them erupted with screams, and when the lights went back up they moved, as if they had been unpetrified. Anna pressed her smile into his chest as she squeezed him tight, and at last they moved apart, John limping after her as they made their way to Sybil's beaming face.

"What a great performance!" she sang into the microphone. "Well done, you guys! How did it feel, John?"

The microphone was thrust into his face with such enthusiasm that it almost hit him on the nose. He cleared his throat. "Well, I think the nerves have cleared up now that I've got the first one over and done with."

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd and, grinning, Anna wrapped her arms around his middle. Sybil turned to her.

"And did everything go to plan?" she asked.

"I think John executed it wonderfully," Anna replied firmly. "I couldn't have asked for a better start."

"We'll have to see if the judges share your sentiment," said Sybil. "What did you think, judges?"

Elsie Hughes was the first one to lean forward. "I think it was a superb effort. John, your lines were wonderful and your presence across the dancefloor was commanding. With a romantic, sensual dance such as this, it's important to have the audience's attention, and I found that I couldn't look away from you."

The crowd cheered its agreement.

"Oh, honey, that was a whole other level of sexiness," agreed Martha. "I need a fan! I just might consider leaving my husband for you when this is all over, Mr. Bates."

This brought forth appreciative laughter from the crowd, and Anna squeezed him warningly. Like he could ever have eyes for anyone else when she was who she was. He managed a weak smile in return as Martha went on waxing lyrical about the way he had commanded Anna and really taken the lead.

Charles and Violet's comments were slightly more sobering. Although they praised his efforts, they each pointed out little things that he could have done better. But, he consoled himself, that was nothing new, and it could have been much, much worse. At least none of them seemed to have noticed his knee. That meant it couldn't have been too much of a hindrance, as he had feared it might be.

"Thank you, judges," said Sybil at last. "Please give it up for John and Anna!"

The usual theme music started back up. They smiled in the direction of Camera One before exiting the stage and hurrying up for the scores. They were greeted to cheers from the former contestants and Gwen's beaming face.

"Well done!" she said. "We all loved that from up here. What did you think to the judge's comments?"

"They were fair," John said with a shrug. "It went better than I expected, so I'm satisfied."

"It looks like the judge's scores are in," Gwen said happily. "Let's see what you got!"

With his heart somewhere in the region of his throat, John looked into the little projection screen. A ten from Elsie Hughes. His heart leapt. That was a terrific start. Then a nine from Charles Carson. Still very good. Another ten from Martha Levinson. And, finally, a nine from Violet Crawley. They had totalled thirty-eight.

Thirty-eight. It was a good score, but it wasn't a _fantastic_ score.

Anna appeared to disagree, squealing, _"Yes!"_ and throwing her arms around him. Even that couldn't distract him from his brooding.

"Well, that's an excellent start," said Gwen jubilantly. "Well done, you two!"

John knew his face was stretched into a smile that felt more like a wince. "Thank you."

"We'll be seeing you two again very soon indeed, but for now we'll say goodbye," said Gwen, and that was finally he cue to escape towards the dressing rooms. Before they could reach them, however, Anna pulled him up by touching his hand.

"All right, Mr. Bates," she said. "What's wrong?"

"Who says there's anything wrong?" he replied, trying to adopt a tone of airy, innocent surprise.

She prodded him. "_I_ do. I know you very well by now. You're beating yourself up in that head of yours, aren't you? Come on, you can tell me. You're supposed to trust me with everything."

He paused, briefly considering repeating that it was nothing, but he knew that that would only hurt her feelings, especially after what they had shared last night. So he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"We're not really improving, are we?" he said miserably. "We got another generic high thirties score."

"We're being consistent," said Anna. "That's important."

"Jimmy is consistently getting forty," he pointed out.

"You've got to stop comparing," she said helplessly. "You have to focus on what you're doing and what you're achieving. Look where you were at the start of this! You were getting scores in the teens. It's not always about the best dancers. You know that as well as I do. It's the ones who try hard and put their soul into it. I'm pleased with what we did. Now stop putting extra pressure on yourself and just enjoy yourself no matter what happens. Second is a fantastic achievement. It's really not bad as a worst case scenario."

Reluctantly, his lips quirked. "I suppose you're right there."

"I'm always right. Now, I'll see you in a few minutes."

With that, she disappeared into her dressing room, and John followed suit, soon being poked and prodded by a whole team as he was changed in lightning quick time. In a flash he was back out backstage, waiting for Anna. She appeared moments later, breathless, and together they were hurried back down to the side of the stage by Grigg. They were in time to see Jimmy and Rose's scores. Another perfect forty. The crowd was on its feet, cheering and screaming.

Well, no time to dwell on it now. It was almost their turn again.

"Right, on you go," said Grigg.

In the brief few moments between Jimmy and Rose departing and them arriving, the set had been transformed to a park, ready to tell the story of a lively Charleston. Out of the three dances, this was the one that he was dreading the most. The romantic dances he could do – with a partner like Anna, it wasn't difficult to act the part of a love-struck bloke, and he found the slower, more serious dances easier – but he didn't usually have the sunny, entertaining disposition that was so necessary for the livelier dances like the jitterbug and the jive. He suspected that that was why the judges had chosen the Charleston as the dance that they would like to see him perform.

"Remember what we've practised," Anna murmured in his ear before they parted to take up their starting positions. "You've got this."

He only wished he could have the same confidence. As Sybil introduced them and the first beats of the music began, he tried to focus on what was ahead. It was just two minutes of his life.

It turned out to be two of the most painful that he had ever faced.

Already knowing that he would face some difficulties with the fast pacing, he hadn't reckoned on the added pressure that it would place on his knee. The constant flicks and kicks and prancing had pain lancing right the way up his right thigh, almost burning right in the kneecap where it billowed up from. He tried to keep his face relaxed, tried to count the beats to distract himself, but it was almost impossible. The lifts were no better; they involved him contorting into positions that made him want to cry out while Anna jumped on to him. It was a miracle that he didn't drop her.

It seemed like forever before the song came to an end on a jazzy final note. Trembling, John all but collapsed. He wasn't sure if his knee would hold his weight now that he had to walk across the dance floor to where Sybil was standing. Hot sweat poured down his forehead and collected under his armpits, making his shirt stick to his back in the most uncomfortable manner.

"Are you all right?"

Anna's voice was panicked and low in his ear; he knew that she would pick up on his discomfort immediately. He tried for a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"I'm fine," he tried to reassure her again, hoping she couldn't hear the pain in his voice. "Come on, they're waiting for us."

He walked – or hobbled, as he was sure was more of a true description – across the room to Sybil's side. Thankfully, she made no comment on his appearance, doing the usual routine of congratulating him and asking him how he had felt about his performance this time around. He answered as best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his right knee, and they were offered up to the opinions of the judges. It ran in much the same vein as the others. Each of them praised the obvious improvement that he had made, but all had little suggestions that he could have used to have done better. He wasn't surprised by that, though it didn't stop the piercing needle of disappointment that seemed to make the pain in his knee sharpen further, as if goading him that his efforts could never have been enough. At last they were allowed to escape, but it was only as far as Gwen and the other contestants, where they were forced to endure another round of the same, given more of a chance to reflect on their performance now they were up here and had heard what the judges had had to say.

"And here come the judges' scores!" Gwen called.

John waited with bated breath.

A nine from Elsie. Not a bad start. It was mirrored by a nine from Martha. There was another nine from Charles. And, finally, an eight from Violet. Which was a little bit of a blow, but was still high praise coming from her.

Even so, John couldn't help but deflate. Thirty-five. That was miles off of Jimmy's performance, and was much lower than the score for their first dance. It placed them a solid seven points behind Jimmy on the leader board, highlighting the vast discrepancy between their two abilities. He could never hope to claw that back. Jimmy would have to bomb in the next dance, and he would have to get that perfect score, that unobtainable forty.

"Thirty-five is still a great score," said Gwen, perhaps reading some of the despondency in his face. He tried to make it suitably gracious, but it was difficult when he was so disappointed.

"It is," Anna said firmly beside him. "And we're saving our best until last with the showstopper."

"And speaking of the showstoppers," said Gwen, "it's time to find out what has been chosen for you! Make your way back down to the dancefloor, and we'll hand back over to Sybil."

"Thank you, Gwen!" said Sybil cheerfully, the indication that the camera had moved away from them.

"Let's go," said Anna. There was a sliver of nervous anticipation in her voice, and John felt a thrill of fear in his stomach. What if the audience had chosen another fast dance for him to perform?

He kept his concerns to himself as he made his way back down, past the other former contestants who wished him luck in whispers as he passed.

Jimmy and Rose were waiting for the cue backstage when they arrived.

"Congratulations!" Anna said lowly. "It sounds like you two were fantastic. I can't wait to watch the recordings back later."

"Cheers," said Jimmy, casting an awkward glance at John. He was clearly still feeling the sting of injustice on Thomas' behalf.

Rose beamed. "You and John did great work too. I think they were very unfair to only give you thirty-five on that Charleston."

"Thank you," Anna said graciously. John said nothing.

At that moment, they were called back onto the stage, and they descended the stairs together. They came to a stop at the bottom of them. To their right, Jimmy wrapped his arms around Rose's waist. Well, if it was safe for them to do so, it would probably be all right for them, too, John thought. Tentatively, he hooked his arms around Anna's middle and pulled her back against him. She looked up at him, a dazzling grin sparkling on her face.

"So, the results of the public vote are in," came Sybil's voice, startling him out of staring down into her eyes. He averted his gaze to the presenter hastily, hoping that the camera hadn't caught it. "I can now reveal the showstoppers that you at home have chosen for each of the two remaining contestants. First up is Jimmy and Rose. You were given the choice of every dance they have ever performed apart from the two picked out by themselves and by the judges respectively. Jimmy and Rose, I can now reveal that the audience wants your show stopping performance to be…a Salsa!"

A salsa would really suit Jimmy. If it was possible, he did the energetic dances even better than he did the romantic ones. The nerves began to mount as Sybil started to address the crowd again. It was his turn now. God, he'd give anything for it not to be a fast dance…

"And for John and Anna," said Sybil, "they will be tackling a…waltz!"

Screams of appreciation rose up from the spectators. John felt the iron fist that had been clamping his heart loosen slightly. A waltz. He could handle that. An elegant, romantic dance was far better than the frenzy of a Salsa.

"So," said Sybil, hurrying over to them and thrusting the mic under Jimmy's nose, "how do you feel about that choice, Jimmy?"

"Really great!" he said enthusiastically. "I reckon I can rock it."

"This is going to be some showstopper," Rose added. "If you think he's been good tonight, you've seen nothing yet. Forty will be a low score!"

It was certainly fighting talk. John swallowed and tried not to let his anxieties show.

"And what do you think?" said Sybil, turning the mic on him with relish.

"Er," he said stupidly, "yes, I'm very pleased."

"It plays to our strengths," Anna chipped in. "We're going to give it our all."

"Well, it sounds like we've got a fierce finale in front of us!" said Sybil cheerfully. "We'll be seeing both Jimmy and Rose and John and Anna again very soon, but for now, they're going to leave us. Over to you, Gwen, to introduce our final segment before this hotly anticipated showdown!"

"Thank you, Sybil," said Gwen. "Yes, for the first part of the final segment, we are looking back over some of our favourite moments of the series…"

Her voice faded away as the foursome crept off stage. John knew that they had about twenty minutes before they were expected back onstage; that was five minutes more than Jimmy and Rose, who would of course be dancing first once again. They muttered stilted good luck wishes to each other, and Jimmy and Rose hurried off. Anna stopped John from following suit with a hand on his arm.

"So, how _do_ you feel about that?" she asked.

"Well, it's a good choice for us," he admitted. "I suppose if I have a strong point, it's this type of dancing."

Anna tutted. You have lots of strong points, John. One day you'll see that just as I do."

He highly doubted it, but it was best not to argue with her. Instead, he settled for, "We'd better get along if we don't want to miss our cue. I'll see you soon."

Anna nodded absently. "You will. In the meantime, I'd better get brainstorming some ideas…"

He'd forgotten that they still had to tell a story with this last dance. Suddenly, he was very glad that Jimmy and Rose were going first. It gave them five more minutes to think of something.

He walked into the dressing room and balked.

"What the hell is that?" he croaked.

Daisy, who seemed to be in charge of the costumes, gave him a cautious look, as if she wasn't quite sure whether to take him seriously or not. "It's a waistcoat, Mr. Bates."

"Yes, I can see that. Where's the shirt for underneath it?"

"There isn't one," said Daisy.

"There isn't one?" he repeated faintly. There had to be some kind of mistake. He couldn't go out there wearing nothing but a bloody awful, black, sparkling waistcoat. Those getups were for the young men with the rippling abs, like Jimmy, and even Thomas. Certainly not for _him_. He'd blind people! He was quite certain that no one would want to see a middle-aged belly and a hairy chest, without a hint of a six-pack in sight.

"Come on, Mr. Bates, we're running out of time! You've got to get it on!" Daisy squealed now. In a daze, feeling sick to the stomach, he pulled off his shirt and took the waistcoat in his hands, half-afraid that it would try and bite him. Actually, that would be preferable. At least then he wouldn't have to _wear_ it.

He pulled it on, then changed his trousers to some made of the same material. Christ, what a sight he made. He looked like he had wandered in from the eighties. There was a reason most people tried to forget about that era.

"Go, go, go!" said Daisy, pushing him back out the door.

He skulked about waiting for Anna outside, very seriously contemplating making a dash for it. Sod this, Jimmy could have the title by default. He couldn't humiliate himself in this garish getup on national television. More than that, he was quite sure that Robert would never, _ever_ let him forget it. He would probably take pictures to blackmail him with.

At that moment, Anna clattered out of the women's dressing room. She stopped short when she saw him. John flung his arms out to the sides, giving her a better look at him.

"Bloody terrifying, isn't it?" he said sardonically.

"No," she returned in a weak whisper, blinking at him. "Wow."

He rolled his eyes. "I can think of many words to describe how I look. 'Wow' isn't one of them. Unless it's a 'wow' of horror. Which I could completely understand then."

Anna shook her head. "You look gorgeous. I'm not sure how I'm going to keep my mind on dancing when you look like that. I'll be overrun with thoughts of how much I want to kiss you."

"I forgot that I was talking to the one woman who has the rare ability to not see what's in front of her."

She scowled at him. "I actually have the ability to see the truth of what's right in front of me and not just the surface, but that's neither here nor there at the moment. We've got other things to think on. And I think I've come up with a routine."

A little chastened by the brusqueness of her tone, he said, "Yes?"

"Yes." Her eyes gleamed. "I want to tell the story of a solitary, lonely man who finds love when he thinks that all is lost."

The back of John's neck prickled uncomfortably. "But –"

"No buts," she said fiercely. "This is what we're going with. We really don't have the time to argue. We'll start off apart, then come together without quite touching, and mirror each other. And then, as the song draws on, we'll start touching more and by the end we'll be dancing together. Now, look, this is what I had in mind…"

Five minutes later, they lingered behind the curtain, ready to take their turn. John's stomach lurched unpleasantly again. His mind teemed, trying to remember the steps that Anna had talked him through, the vision she had had…

She touched his hand.

"Ready?" she asked softly.

He glanced down at her. The height discrepancy wasn't nearly what it usually was, with the five inch heels that spiked her height significantly. How she could dance in shoes like that was beyond his comprehension. And yet she did it with an unfaltering elegance.

She was simply beautiful from head to toe. He had been so caught up in his own head before that he hadn't taken the time to properly look at her, but he did so now. And, God, how gorgeous she was. Her sparkling black dress matched his horrendous waistcoat, slinky and sexy, ending just above the knee. Her hair fell in golden curls around her face, and her makeup was smoky. He wouldn't feel quite so bad if he could just wear a bloody shirt, but he hoped that Anna's beauty would be enough to distract from him, never mind the fact that he was the one who would be scrutinised for his dancing.

He swallowed, shaking those thoughts away. "Let's just get this over with." Whatever happened now, the end was in sight. He would never have to dance for live television ever again. That, if nothing else, could spur him through the next five minutes.

Grigg materialised out of nowhere and herded them back towards the stage. They were just in time to see Jimmy and Rose's score: a cool thirty-nine. The consensus seemed to be that it had been yet another wonderful display, marred only by one moment when they had not quite been in sync. That gave them an overall total of one hundred and nineteen.

They were pushed through the curtains and took up their positions on stage. Anna gave him a nod from the other side of the room. He took a deep breath.

"And now, dancing the waltz, their very last dance of the series: John and Anna," came Sybil's floating voice.

A second later, the music started up, and all thoughts fled John's mind. He took a moment to compose himself and focus on the steps that were running through his mind, and started forward. The three beats and then the turn. The gasp of appreciation from the audience hinted that he and Anna had done it in perfect timing. For several moments he did not look at her, listening to the mournful beat of the music, concentrating on keeping his expression morose and longing.

But they only had two minutes, and they could not linger apart for too long. Gradually, they came closer together, reaching out to touch one another but stopping just short, as if there was something there to stop them, a barrier that would forever keep them apart. They circled each other slowly, keeping their feet sure, never taking their eyes off each other.

The music swelled. It was there cue. With a decisive sweep, John pushed forward. He circled her once, kept his fingers hovering over her for one second more…and finally connected with her. His left hand found her right, their fingers softly caressing and then locking. His right hand found her waist, guiding her back against him. Cheers rose up from the audience at the contact, and it occurred to him dimly that they had been silent up until that point. Was that a good sign?

He tilted Anna back slightly, a lover's embrace, and then span her until she was facing him properly. Her spare arm came up around his neck, her fingers briefly touching his neck before lying flat against his shoulders. He rocked them round in a graceful circle, remembering to keep it light and flowing, like rocking on gentle waves, keeping his eyes fixed on hers as they moved in perfect synchronisation. When the next beats came, he took control, gliding with her across the floor, their arms leading, his spare still around her waist to guide her where he wanted her. Forward, back, forward again, another twirl. John counted the beats in his head, determined not to get this wrong, not with the centrepiece coming up.

When the music lifted, he placed his leg between hers, and they twirled around the dancefloor, spinning faster and faster, yet in perfect control. The audience screamed and clapped, and John felt his heart lurch. He'd done it. They kept this going for a moment more before switching back into the smooth, elegant steps of earlier. He felt like a king guiding his queen, and Anna's face was alive with longing. Up on his tiptoes, a dip, swishing from side to side…twisting and twisting and twisting in controlled circles…

They stopped. Anna's forehead was pressed to his cheek as her hand found his shoulder and he pressed his between her shoulder blades. It was for but a brief second so they could adjust their positions; Anna dropped to the floor and, his heart pounding, he used his strength to drag her in a graceful circle before pulling her back to her feet, still spinning, in time for the end of the song. Holding hands, they raised their arms above their heads for a brief moment; then Anna disentangled hers and ran them down his front until they were resting on his chest. John held her around the waist in return. They stayed like that, like two carved statues.

They held their positions until that last quivering note of the music died out, and John collapsed against Anna's shoulder in relief. It was over. Thank God. She squeezed him tight, cradling his head in her shoulder, not moving, just giving him that reassurance.

It was over in a moment. Back to reality. John pulled himself away as Sybil called for them insistently, and together they turned in the direction of the judges' table. Sybil looked overjoyed, opening her arms in welcome.

"Wow!" she crowed. "That was amazing! How do you feel now that it's all over?"

He thought it might be a bit rude to say thankful, so settled instead for, "It's…surreal."

"And how do you think you did?"

"I think it went okay," he said, glancing down at his side. Anna had wound her arms around his waist, and was resting her head against his arm.

"It went more than okay," she piped up. "John was fantastic. I've never been prouder of him than I am at this moment."

Cheers of agreement rose up from the onlookers, and John felt himself blushing even as the warm ball in his chest expanded. Without thinking about it too much, he brought his arm up around Anna's shoulder and bent down to press a kiss to her head, the emotions expanding inside his chest. He was quite certain that they would burst out at any moment. Sod the bloody media. Let people think what they liked.

Sybil grinned broadly. "Well, let's see if the judges agree with you, Anna. Martha?"

"Oh, honey, I agree a thousand percent!" said Martha brashly, waving her ring-encrusted hands above her head. "That was sublime." She turned to the audience. "And is it getting hot in here or what?"

The audience laughed and wolf whistled.

"Seriously, babydoll, that was something else. That chemistry was off the charts! I don't know if there is any weight in the rumours about the two of you that have been flying around, but I was so into it that I just wanted to smush your faces together."

Violet looked horrified. "You can't say things like that!"

"Ah, whatever," said Martha, the beads around her neck jangling. "Neither of them have got partners, have they? It's just an observation. That chemistry crackled. The audience agrees with me."

More cheers to show support. John found he couldn't look down at Anna. He was sure that it would give the game away.

"And, Jackie boy," Martha continued, "you are looking _fine_! If I was twenty years younger…hell, what am I saying? I meant what I said earlier: I'd have you now if you wanted me!"

Roars of laughter and cheers of appreciation. John felt his ears tingling with embarrassment as Anna snorted beside him. He didn't dare try to find Robert and his mother. Robert would probably be rolling in the aisles, and his mother's horror would be palpable.

"Well, there were some interesting comments there," said Sybil, sounding unsure of whether she should laugh or not. "What about you, Charles?"

More dignified, Charles gave his view on the performance, concluding that it had been pitch-perfect. Elsie agreed, and echoed Martha's sentiments that the chemistry had made the performance absolutely mesmerising to watch, coupled with the story that had spoken of yearning and hope. Violet closed with an admission that she had thought he had lost concentration for a second during the moment when they first came together, but otherwise she could find no fault. It was a reasonable comment, John thought; he probably _had_ done. He was only a bloke, after all.

"Well, that bodes very well!" Sybil said happily.

"We're very happy with those comments," Anna agreed. "John's worked so hard during the whole course of the competition, and I'm glad that he's getting recognition for that with this final performance."

"We shall soon see how closely your opinions tally up," said Sybil. "John and Anna, everyone!"

John gave a brief wave at the camera, as expected, and headed backstage to where Gwen was waiting on tenterhooks. As soon as they entered, the room erupted into roars of approval. All he could do was blink in bemusement as they were pulled forward, slapped on the back, shaken. But it was humbling too, knowing that everyone – or almost everyone, he amended, seeing Thomas' thunderous face – had been rooting for them to do well.

"That was amazing!" Gwen squealed. "We were on the edges of our seats up here! Terrific stuff! It looked like you were enjoying yourselves. And how did you find it, John, having to perform a routine that you've had little prior knowledge of?"

"It's nerve-wracking, of course," he answered. "But also, with someone like Anna by my side, it's hard to feel afraid. I trust her completely, and I knew that her vision would work. I just had to trust myself enough to do a good job of it."

"Well, it looks like the judge's scores are in," said Gwen. "So let's see how you did!"

For the last time, John waited with bated breath to see how they had fared. Anna's hand slid into his, squeezing tight.

"Martha Levinson," said Gwen, getting the ball rolling.

"Ten!"

"Charles Carson!"

"Ten!"

"Elsie Hughes!"

"Ten!"

John felt his knees quiver, and had to focus hard on standing upright. Jesus Christ, _three tens_. Never before had he imagined that such a score was possible to achieve. It was beyond his wildest imaginings. Anna was clutching his hand so tightly that her nails cut into his skin.

"Violet Crawley!"

"Nine!"

Thirty-nine. They'd scored thirty-nine. Almost perfection.

The moment the total was revealed, Anna screeched, throwing her arms around his neck and almost squeezing the life out of him.

"You absolute legend!" she shrieked in his ear, and planted a smacking kiss against his cheek. Burning up anew, John tried to ease her away, but she didn't seem to want to go. The other contestants were also going mad in the background, but it seemed to be happening far away. All John could focus on was the reality that they had achieved thirty-nine.

Gwen was beaming at them. "Congratulations!"

He dipped his head, but could think of nothing to say; Anna's articulation went no further than squealing. Gwen laughed, turning back to the cameras.

"And there you have it!" she exclaimed. "The dancing is finally over, and here is the leader board for the final time. Jimmy is out in front with one hundred and nineteen out of a possible one hundred and twenty, with John slightly behind with one hundred and twelve. But as we all know, scores don't count towards everything. The voting is now open, and you have an hour to vote for your favourites to become the next winners of _Dance With Me_. All the voting information is on the screen right now. To vote for Jimmy and Rose, call…"

John listened to Gwen reeling off the voting information in a daze. To end on such a high…it was wonderful. And he'd made Anna proud. That meant more to him than anything else. Next year, she was probably going to get a more competent dancer for a partner, but for now he could relish the way that she looked at him, like she had never seen a more wondrous sight.

They had just an hour to wait until they found out whether their names would go up in stars. They had just an hour to wait until they found out whether John had finally achieved something worthy of the woman he had fallen in love with.

* * *

The hour passed more quickly than he thought it would. In between sitting around chatting with the other contestants, he and Anna went backstage for one final change of clothes. And then, before they knew it, they were being told that they would be back on air in two minutes.

This was it.

Wishes of good luck echoed around as people slapped him on the back or hugged him. John bobbed his head, uncomfortable with these displays, but they were made easier with having Anna by his side. The only person who remained conspicuously in his seat was Thomas, who sent them a scathing, withering look of pure loathing. John ignored him. He was simply grateful that Thomas hadn't tried to cause any trouble tonight. He had not forgotten the warning that he had sent him, but he wasn't worried. After tonight, there wasn't a thing that Thomas could do to him. They hardly moved in the same circles.

Mary met them by the door.

"Good luck," she said anxiously. "I really hope you do it."

"Thank you," said John.

"And we need a good chat later," she said, turning to Anna. "We have a lot to discuss."

John knew she was referring to the position she had discovered them in that morning, and blushed; Anna gave a bashful grin.

"Yeah, I know," she said. "Not tonight, though."

"Tomorrow?"

"We'll arrange something."

"Fair enough. Now, you'd better get a move on."

"You're the one blocking the way," Anna pointed out playfully.

"Yeah, make way for the real winners," said Thomas snidely. "You've got this in the bag, Jimmy. No way this bumbling buffoon has beaten you."

Jimmy muttered a "thanks," in Thomas' direction, pushing past. Evidently even he was uncomfortable with that kind of comment. True to form, the others leapt onto Thomas' comment, indignantly shouting it down, but the younger man merely smirked. He had got the reaction he wanted. John was determined not to give him an even bigger one. Thomas probably wanted to incite another fight so that his reputation as a wild-tempered thug was cemented. No, Thomas would have to be cleverer than that. So he merely put his hand on the small of Anna's back and guided her out of the room.

"What is his problem?" said Anna, nonplussed, craning her neck as if she would quite like to go back and give Thomas a piece of her mind herself. "What does he have against you? You haven't done a thing to him!"

"Well, I did almost break his nose yesterday," John pointed out.

Anna's lips twitched. "Yes, well, that _was _after putting up with his nasty attitude all this time. I just don't get it. Maybe he's jealous?"

"Of what?" John snorted. "It's not like he can be jealous of me dancing with you."

She shrugged. "Well, everyone prefers you to him."

"And here was me, under the impression that I was unsociable."

She giggled, bumping against his shoulder, but before she could say anything else, a harassed looking Grigg ran up to them.

"You should be ready to get on stage!" he hissed. "The show is about to start!"

They hurried the rest of the way, almost colliding with Jimmy and Rose as they waited. Together, they listened to Sybil and Gwen reintroduce the show, recap what had happened so far tonight, and announce that the voting had closed. They spoke with the judges about the quality of the series, about the merits of both Jimmy and John as winners (the general consensus seemed to be that Jimmy was pure, natural talent and a joy to watch, but John had shown such progression throughout the course of the show that everyone wanted to cheer on his improvement).

"And now," said Sybil, "for the final time, will you please welcome to the stage this year's _Dance With Me_'s finalists, Jimmy and Rose, and John and Anna."

One last round of good lucks were exchanged before the doors at the top of the stage opened, and they exited together, waving as they descended the stairs. The crowd was on its feet applauding; this time, John allowed his eyes to wander, to search for his mother in the crowd. And there she was, right on the front row, tears streaming down her face, gnarled hands coming together fiercely. Robert was by her side for the company, but even he looked emotional, not at all like his usual cheerful and joking self. God, John hoped that his best friend wasn't going to get too maudlin. He could cope with his mother being sensitive, but not Robert, who had always been so reliable in that regard.

They came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and separated slightly, Jimmy and Rose on the right, he and Anna on the left. Anna stepped in front of him, and he automatically wrapped his arms around her, needing the reassurance of her body against his. The whole room went black, and he was almost blinded when the spotlight shone directly onto him. At the other side, Jimmy and Rose were receiving the same attention. All focus was on them.

Gwen's voice came out of the darkness. "For the past twelve weeks, you have been voting for your favourites. And you chose the last two standing to be Jimmy and John."

Sybil's voice joined her. "But there can only be one winner at the end of it all. Ladies and gentleman, your winner of this year's _Dance With Me_ is…"

The silence went on and on. Not a murmur could be heard from the audience. John felt his blood thundering in his ears, counting each agonising second as it passed. Anna was trembling. Christ, this should be classed as a form of torture, leaving someone hanging like this with that awful, cloying knot of disquiet in the throat and in the stomach…the atmosphere was absolutely stifling, charged with a current of unease…

"It's Jimmy and Rose!"

At once, the lights went back up. The audience started screaming and stamping their feet. The theme tune started up in a celebratory fashion as confetti fell from the heavens like snow. Jimmy was yelling and whooping; he'd hoisted Rose up into his arms and was spinning round with her while she shrieked.

Jimmy was the winner.

John knew the camera would be on him, so he smiled and clapped, watching Jimmy jig around like a mad thing. And he knew, deep down, that it was the right decision. Jimmy had been the superior dancer. It would have been an injustice for him to lose.

And yet, for the briefest of seconds, he'd thought that _his_ name would be called, that he'd hoist Anna up the way that Jimmy had lifted Rose, that she'd have looked down at him with the same pride and awe on her face…

She touched his arm now. He looked down into her face.

Her expression took his breath away. It was exactly how he had imagined it would be if they'd won.

"Congratulations, Mr. Bates," she said, beaming. "Second place. Not bad at all considering you spent all your time moaning that you'd never be any good."

He didn't think he could love her more. But there was no time to say anything.

The next few minutes were chaos. John and Anna were asked to reflect on the result by Gwen and Sybil; John went through the perfunctory motions of expressing a little disappointment for himself but pleasure for Jimmy and Rose, who were the deserved winners. Anna piped up that he was still the winner in her eyes.

Then they joined the others while Jimmy was interviewed and, finally, the show closed for another year with Jimmy performing his showstopper one final time.

Now John had to ensure that the close of the show didn't mean the close of this wonderful chapter with Anna.

* * *

The final after-party was in full swing. John stood on the periphery of the dancefloor, watching Jimmy dancing up a storm, the winner's crown sliding down over his eyes with his exuberance. He couldn't help smiling slightly at the sight. Jimmy was so young still, with a whole career in front of him yet. He ought to enjoy all of the attention he could get while he _could_ get it. Longevity in the celebrity world was fleeting for most; all he had to do was put a foot wrong and it would all come crashing down around him. He knew that himself from experience.

Thankfully, it seemed that it was also possible to rebuild a life from the ruins. Anna had been the one to teach him that.

He sought her out now, zoning in on her as she danced with Tom on the dancefloor, laughing as he swung her round. She really was a wonder.

"Here, mate, a pint of Coke just like you ordered."

"Thanks," John said absently, taking it from his best friend's hand. Robert leaned against the wall beside him, his gaze also going to the dancefloor.

"She's one in a million, isn't she?" he said.

"Who?"

"Oh, come off it. You know very well I'm talking about Anna. But I'm pleased for you. Really. You deserve some happiness in your life, and Anna certainly seems to make you happy. I will take full credit for that, of course. If I hadn't negotiated all of this behind your back, you would never have been here."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't play the fool with me. I know very well where you spent the night yesterday. All that bull about you being with a friend? Yeah, I didn't buy that for a single second. For one thing, you _never_ seem to spend any time with anyone who isn't me. And I know it was no coincident that Anna just happened to disappear at the same time you did. Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you for any details." He shot him a sideways look. "Yet, anyway. But I just wanted you to know that I couldn't be more pleased for you, old boy. And not only that. I'm proud of what you've done here tonight as well. Second place is a bloody good achievement. I was nearly in tears at the end. Of course, that might have had something to do with that bloody awful outfit you were in for the last dance. What the hell was that all about? If I'd wanted to see you half-naked at any point, I would have asked you out on a date. My eyes will never recover."

"I'm touched," said John dryly, lifting his glass to his mouth. "And listen, Robert, all that Anna stuff…maybe there's something there. I don't know yet. But I don't want you repeating anything to anyone. The last thing we need is that kind of pressure. When there's anything to report, I'm sure you'll be the first to know. But until then, just…resist from making too many smart remarks. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm begging you."

He wasn't being entirely truthful; he knew for himself that there was something there between them, and had seen enough of Anna over the past twenty-four hours to know the same was true on her behalf. But he thought it was a good idea to do as much damage limitation while he could.

Robert looked positively gleeful. "Say no more, mate. Oh, I feel like Christmas has come early. I never thought I'd see the day when John Bates got dewy-eyed over a woman. You can count on me. I won't breathe a word to anyone. But when it's out in the open, all bets are off. You're not getting off as easily as that, not when I bloody _knew_ you fancied the tiny skirts off her." He raised his glass now in a toast. "I wish you luck in your endeavours as you go off in hot pursuit of her."

"Git," John said, elbowing him in the side. "Now bugger off and annoy someone else. How about Sybil? Look, she's just cut in for a dance with Tom Branson…"

"_What?"_ Robert yelped, losing all humour, and, with that, muscled his way through the crowd. Smirking, John went back to people-watching, taking periodic sips, letting his mind wander to how he might try and make some grand gesture to Anna…

"There you are. Honestly, I've been looking all over for you. It's like trying to catch smoke."

That could only be one person. Grinning more broadly than ever, he turned to find his mother standing beside him, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"Hello to you too," he teased.

"Don't you 'hello' me. You've been too busy to stop and spend a moment with your own mother. Instead you've been swarmed by photographers and other women, without sparing a thought for me."

"Are you jealous?" he said, amused. "You're the one who keeps telling me that I need to get back out there and put the past behind me. What if my future was in that crowd, eh?"

"She wasn't," his mother said bluntly.

Sensing where that conversation was going to go, John said hastily, "Well, since I have got you to myself now, what did you think? Did you enjoy it?"

"Well, I wish you'd won," she said at once. "You were miles better than that little whippersnapper."

Which was completely untrue, but John let her have her little biases. She was his mother. She was bound to stick by that until she was blue in the face.

"I wish I could have won for you," he said lightly. "I wanted to make you proud."

"Oh, you can stop right there, boyo. You make me proud every single day. You don't need to win a dance competition to make me proud. Believe me, I don't believe there was anyone there tonight more proud of anyone. I cried."

"I didn't want to make you cry!"

"They were happy tears, to see you doing so well. I couldn't take my eyes off you. You have a real talent, m'boy. Maybe you've found your calling."

He snorted. "I doubt that very much. I'll stick to being a football pundit."

"You could carry on dance lessons," she said, entirely too hopefully to be misread. She was trying to think of a way that he could keep Anna in his life, looking for a way that things might move forward.

"We'll see," he said. He didn't want to commit to anything. Just because he and Anna had already slept together and just because he had silently decided that he had nothing to lose by giving it a go and just because he knew that he would never want any woman but her ever again, it didn't mean that any more would come of it. Their discussion last night had been deep and intimate, but he didn't want to predict the future. Not when anything could happen.

His eyes drifted towards her, where she was now dancing with a joyful Joseph Molesley. He could tell that she was trying to discreetly avoid his two left feet, and smiled. She would never know how much sunshine she had brought to his life.

"Go to her."

His mother's murmur beside him took a few seconds to register.

"No, I'm fine just where I am," he said, perhaps a little half-heartedly. She was not fooled.

"Go to her, John. She's waiting for you."

Maybe she was. With a slight smile, he turned to her. "All right. I will. But don't forget, you're still my best girl."

"Ach, you always were a charmer. Get."

He mock-saluted her and limped into the crowd of jumping, screaming dancers. In a matter of seconds he had reached Anna's side, touching his hand to her waist.

"Come to claim your dance, have you?" she beamed.

"I don't think my knee would be up to it," he said. Aware that Joseph Molesley was trying to eavesdrop, he added, "I'm just going outside for a cigarette."

"You should give them up," she said reprovingly.

"A man's got to be allowed his vices. See you in a bit?"

She seemed to pick up on what he wasn't saying at once. He loved that they were always on the same wavelength. "Sure."

Everyone else was too engrossed in the party atmosphere to notice him slipping out of the club's hidden side entrance. He did not want to have to contend with the press and the paparazzi who would be clamouring out front for pictures and more gossip. Fumbling about in his pocket, he withdrew a cigarette and lit it, tilting his head back and exhaling a cloud of smoke. He'd picked up the bad habit when he'd started drinking after his career lay in tatters, but he hadn't managed to shake it in the same way he had the booze. He'd tried not to smoke too much during the last twelve weeks, with it having an adverse effect on his stamina, and he supposed he ought to use it as an opportunity to give it up entirely. But he figured that tonight he was allowed to indulge a little.

He was halfway through it when the door opened behind him again and, as he had expected, Anna slipped through to join him.

"It's cold out here!" she exclaimed, shivering.

He shrugged his suit jacket off without a second thought. "Here, take this."

"I couldn't," she said. "I don't want you to be cold."

"I can handle it. Your need is greater than mine."

She hesitated for a moment, then grabbed it, wrapping it tight around her shoulders. It absolutely flogged her, but John couldn't help but think that there was something incredibly sexy about her draped in something of his. He hoped he got to see it more often. He had a t-shirt and a hoodie that would look absolutely perfect on her…

He shook those thoughts away quickly, focusing his attention instead on finishing off his cigarette. Anna stood quietly by.

"So," she said eventually, "second place. Not bad, mister."

He chuckled, watching ash float from the end of his smoke. "You've already said that. Several times, actually. We both know you're not out here for that."

"Do we?"

"Yes," he said firmly, dropping the stub of his fag to the ground. He crushed it with his heel and turned to face her properly. His heart had begun to dance a quickstep all of its own. He felt jumpy and nervous, filled with a kind of restless energy that could not be channelled elsewhere. His palms were sweaty. It was now or never.

She'd tilted her head slightly to one side, a look of gorgeous expectation upon her face. He reached out and took her hand.

"I know that the end of the show usually indicates the end of the partnership," he said in a low voice. "But…but I don't want this to end, Anna. I've fought how I've felt for so long now, and I'm tired of doing it. Everyone has been telling me that I've been blind over these weeks, that I need to take a chance. I never thought I would…but I also know that it would be the biggest regret of my life if I didn't at least try. I want us to be more than friends, Anna. I want us to be lovers."

"Lovers," she said, as if tasting the words. "I do like the sound of that. Makes my toes curl."

"I know we've done this backwards," he said, "but I want to take you out to dinner. Let me take you out somewhere nice and treat you to a slap up meal." He stumbled a little over his next words, suddenly shy; trying to ask a woman out was not his strong suit. "You know by now that I find you very attractive. But it's not just your physical attractiveness that I'm attracted to. I love your personality too, and the way you understand me better than anyone else has ever done. If you'll consent to it, I want to get to know you better, without any of this competition surrounding us."

"I want it too," she agreed. "But I have another suggestion."

"What's that, then?" he asked.

"How about instead of you taking me out to dinner sometime, you take me out for coffee in the morning? Because I think we could do with a repeat performance of last night, Mr. Bates."

Her words took him by surprise. In his head, he was already trying to come up with ways to show her that he wanted her for more than what they'd done last night, showering her with flowers and compliments and more than a few dates before they revisited that territory.

He ought to have known. She had always made up her own rules. Why would it be any different now?

Truthfully, he didn't want it any different. He never wanted to stop being surprised or overawed by her. These were the earliest of early days, but John knew his feelings. They would never change, could only grow stronger if he was given the opportunity to spend more time with her.

"I'm not sure about that," he joked. "You heard Doctor Clarkson. Now that my dancing days are over, strenuous exercise is strictly off the menu."

"Easily sorted," was Anna's quick reply. "You let me do all the work so that you're not over exerting yourself. It worked well enough yesterday. And it's being confined to a bed, so I don't think that Doctor Clarkson can have too many objections."

He groaned aloud, not even caring that she could hear him. "Good God, Anna." The steamy images that rose to the forefront of his mind were the kind that his good Catholic mother would be horrified to know he had. She'd likely drag him to church by the ear to confess his sins.

And speaking of his mother…

"Well, then," he said, his voice husky, "I should get going if you want me to spend the night at yours. I'll need to pack a bag and get away before my mother realises. She knows what went on yesterday, and I've a feeling that she'd rather chain me to the door handle than think that I was misusing such a lovely girl."

"Is that what you're going to do, Mr. Bates? Misuse me?"

God, that was the last thing he would ever do. He wanted to cherish her in any way she permitted. Perhaps even marry her one day. Have a family.

He looked at her standing there, biting at her lip, her blue eyes dancing. He put his arm around her, hoping that his actions conveyed what he didn't want to say just yet. She tucked herself willingly into his side.

Dreams that he had never expected to have, and certainly never expected to grow on the small screen, on a garish dance competition that he would never have given the time of day to under normal circumstances, had bloomed into life. Maddening as it was, he was in Robert's debt for that joke contract he had signed for all those long months ago.

It would be a wretch to thank him for it, but he would. One day.

He had other things to attend to now. Better things.

"Let's go," Anna said.

And, just like in a fairy tale, the two new lovers strolled off into the night. Together. Winners in life, if not in the competition that had brought them together and made all of his dreams come true.

* * *

**A/N:** So, there we have it. This fic was originally intended to be four chapters long, but I have taken the decision not to post the final one here. It did not really have much bearing on the rest of the fic as it was just going to be a series of glimpses into Anna and John's future. Rest assured that Thomas' scheming backfires, Anna and John have a very happy family together, and that their little girl simply loves to watch their performances on the dance show over and over again, making them watch it with her even though they know it by heart. And, of course, as John looks around at his family at the end, he knows that he has finally achieved perfection. ;)

Thanks for reading!


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